Trouble
by Steampunk.Chuckster
Summary: Being the youngest heir to the incredibly wealthy aristocratic Bartowskis has made Chuck Bartowski the apple of America's eye after his Purple Heart awarded spy parents perished during World War II. A not-so-chance meeting with a potentially dangerous mystery woman might be just what he needs to battle his emotional and mental malaise. Or...is she just trouble?
1. Chapter 1

_**Trouble**_

 **By Steampunk . Chuckster**

 **Summary:** Being the youngest heir to the incredibly wealthy aristocratic Bartowskis has made Chuck Bartowski the apple of America's eye after his Purple Heart awarded spy parents perished during World War II. A not-so-chance meeting with a potentially dangerous mystery woman might be just what he needs to battle his malaise. Or...is she just trouble?

 **A/N:** And yet another story. But listen, this idea happened and then I mentioned it to david . carner and he yelled at me to do it. So I couldn't just not do it, ya know? (This is all a giant lie. He didn't yell at me, he just didn't stop me when I told him to. Get you a friend...) Thank you to him sincerely, though, because he has been a big ol' help through this process, all the way to the point of giving me this title. And so! Enjoy ... _Trouble_.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own CHUCK, and I do not own any of its characters.

* * *

 _Los Angeles, California — 1943_

He felt her stop at his elbow, just behind him. He hadn't heard or seen her, but he could always feel her. She wrapped her hands around his arm and pressed her face against his shoulder affectionately as they stared at their children.

Children…

They weren't children anymore, were they?

Eleanor was twenty-one now, and Charles was seventeen. It was hard to remember they weren't children, that most of Charles' friends went off to become part of Dad's Army. But Charles was a young seventeen. And no matter how much he begged his parents, they told him their hands were tied.

It was selfish. Stephen Bartowski knew he and his wife were being selfish. But because of the work he and his wife had secretly undertaken for the Allies' cause, they let young Charles slip through the draft.

Yes, it was selfish. But the Bartowskis were risking their lives with these European trips, under the guise of their money and prestige as the last of a dying breed in America—monied aristocrats.

He felt at ease with his dangerous mission, his wife beside him, so long as Eleanor and Charles were alive and free.

"Would you mind terribly cleaning up this horrid mess before the Woodcombs arrive, Chuck?" his daughter was saying to his son, her voice starting to get that annoyed tone he recognized as the same one his wife used at times.

"Yes, I would! They should know their son is marrying into a family of bright minds!" Charles shot back. "When I'm finished with this, it will rival even ENIAC. The spirit of Tesla is guiding me. I can feel him in my bones, Ellie."

"Oh, God. Not _that_ again."

"You can't drag me down, Ellie! This won't just calculate numbers. It's going to revolutionize the dictionary business. Put 'em _out_ of business. Why use a dictionary when you can just put a word in here and get the definition?" he exclaimed.

"Quick, Chuck. Give me a word."

"Uh…Um…amphisbaena!"

Ellie gave him a look, then shook her head and went to the bookcase a few feet away, running her fingers over the spines until she came to what she was looking for. She pulled the book out, flicked it open in her arms, turned through a few pages, and stopped, clearing her throat. "Amphisbaena: a mythical serpent with a head at each end. Oh, Chuck. Gross. Really?"

Stephen chuckled, then turned and saw his wife giving him a flat look. He cleared his throat, the chuckle stopped dead in his throat, and fixed his tie, striding into the room. "Now, you two are nearly adults. Must you always get into trivial arguments. You don't think there are more important things happening in the world?"

Eleanor sighed. "I _am_ an adult. I've been one for a few years now. I'm almost engaged. Well, I will be, at least. When this damned war ends."

"I almost want to correct you on your language, but it _is_ a damned war," Mary said, joining them in the room. "Charles, dear. Honestly, this truly is an incredible mess. And the Woodcombs _are_ due for dinner. Do you think you might clean it up just a bit? As a going away gift for your father and I?"

Their son frowned deeply. "Yes, I will, Mother. And for the record, it looks like a mess to you and Ellie, but Dad and I see the order in it. Don't we, Dad?"

"Yes. We do." He sighed resignedly. "But your mother is right. We're trying to make an impression. This is the first time we're meeting the family of this boy your sister is trying to snag—"

"Dad!"

"Sorry." He winced and shrugged. "I'll help you pack it up in boxes and we'll label them. What do you say, Charles?"

"All right. That should work," his son chirped. When Stephen ruffled his curly hair, he got his hand pushed away and a grumpy look. "Dad, please. I'm almost taller than you are and a grown man. You can't do that to my hair. Especially not with _important_ company coming for dinner."

Stephen held his hands up and exchanged an amused look with his wife and his daughter respectively. "You're right, son. Now let's get going on this mess. You two see to it that Sally and Philip have everything in order in the kitchen and dining room. We'll take care of this."

The two Bartowski men spent the next few minutes discussing the younger's invention, and Stephen marveled at the brilliance of his son's mind. He thought perhaps it rivaled his own, if it didn't surpass it completely.

He'd become a brilliant scientist someday.

A man whose brains would be worth more than his parents' collective fortunes. He wouldn't let his son be caught up in the family fortune, trapped within its limitations.

The Bartowskis and the Powells combining through the marriage of Stephen Bartowski and Mary Powell had been the most important event in American society in the nineteen-twenties. The crash had barely made a dent in their combined fortune, and now here they were: secret agents for the Allied powers. Spies working to dismantle Hitler's Third Reich, end this damn horror of a war.

What a life they led, Stephen and Mary Bartowski. And nobody knew about it, not even their children, nor their closest friends.

By the time the Woodcombs arrived, the Bartowski mansion was exactly as it should be, the library without the clutter of the youngest Bartowski's circuits and wires. And he witnessed the immediate warmth between the youngest Woodcomb and his own cherished daughter. They made sense, much in the same way he and Mary had when they'd begun seeing one another over twenty-two years ago.

The Woodcombs were wealthy, though nothing near the sheer opulence of the Bartowskis, but it didn't matter a lick to either Stephen or his wife. Eleanor was happy. He could see it in her. He could see how much she wanted to impress Devon's parents. His wife had told him about the pile of medical books she'd found at their daughter's bedside once she began courting the military physician while he was on leave a year earlier. Now that he'd been promoted to captain, he made it known he would ask for her hand in marriage at the end of the war. Whenever that was.

It was terrifying, watching his daughter yearn for the end of a war that seemed as though…it might never end. She'd once commiserated to him: "It's only been a year, and yet it's felt like twenty."

She was right. A year had felt like twenty. And still it raged on.

That was why he was leaving again in the morning. There was a benefit just outside of Toulouse, one that many German high-level officers would be attending. He'd managed to get himself and his wife invited. There they might acquire some information about the movements of the Waffen-SS—information he might pass on to the Allies on the French front lines.

He just wanted all of this to end. He wanted to live in peace, in the hills over Los Angeles, with his wife and their son. Visit Eleanor and her husband, watch his grandchildren grow up. Teach them the ways of the world in the way only a grandpa could.

He wanted to send Charles to whatever college he wanted to go to, so that he could build his computers and change lives. And Eleanor might go to medical school and become a doctor herself. Both of his children would save lives and he and Mary would get to watch it. Peace would exist in the world again.

It was all he wished for.

And that was why it hurt the next morning, hugging his children goodbye—his grown adults who'd become everything to him, the reason why he went to fight the Axis powers in his own way. Because when he was old and grey, looking at his grandchildren in their faces, telling them about this war, he wanted to be able to tell them their grandpa and grandma were on the right side. The were on the side that wanted to end the genocide, stop the Nazi takeover. And that they'd done everything they could. The Bartowski Family would be on the right side of history. Not standing by and watching as others went to battle.

That was what he wanted. And he knew Mary wanted it, too.

His wife held his hand the entire flight to New York, where they received their orders in a dark basement filled with charts, radios, and military men and women. And she continued to hold his hand all the way into France, as they watched the explosions mushroom up from the ground, the flashes of gunfire.

Their pilot announced they were twenty minutes away from their destination just moments before it happened.

There was a thump at first. Then another. He had a view of the right wing outside of his window, and that was how he saw it sliced right in half, like a knife through butter. The plane tilted without its right wing, fire erupted behind them, Mary screamed. And then there was a _ratatatatat ratatatatat…_

He unbuckled his seatbelt and found Mary had already done so with her own, grabbing him by his shoulders and pulling him onto the floor between the seats, pushing him down and covering him with her own body.

In spite of his protests, trying to fight to get her underneath him, trying to protect her, that was how they were found when French soldiers stationed in Blagnac rushed the wrecked plane and pulled them out. They were both dead before the pilot crash-landed the plane, the bullets from below piercing through the belly of the aircraft and catching them.

A bright future cut short. Allies lost. Parents lost.

}o{

 _Saint-Tropez, France — 1953_

"Just give me a _moment_ , will ya?"

The pounding on his door was driving him insane and he was entirely regretting his decision to invite his sister and brother-in-law along on this European tour of his.

Or rather…the fifth European tour he'd taken in the last year and a half.

He liked Europe, after all. And the Bartowski fortune just kept growing. Thankfully he'd found something to do with it. Trips to Europe were a perfect supplement to all of the charity work he and Ellie did back in the states.

But damn him for actually inviting her along this time.

Damn him to hell.

He chuckled to himself in amusement as he shut the safe in his suite's bedroom, something he'd had installed specifically when he first stayed here a few years earlier, and he hastened to his bedroom door, sweeping it open.

"Ah! Ellie! I didn't hear you. Next time, you should try to knock a little louder."

"Shut up," she groused, giggling as she shoved his face. "And anyway, you told me to tell you when the parade began and it's begun. Devon's out on the balcony now. We've also got champagne." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, you two." He smirked. "You know me too well."

"What, the champagne?"

"That, yes."

"The champagne was for me."

Chuck laughed and slung his arm over his older sister's shoulders and going out onto the balcony with her to stop at the railing next to his brother-in-law. "Are there balloons in this one?"

"Of course not. We're in France. They're classier than having _balloons_ ," Ellie said, pouring him some champagne and bringing it to him.

"Then what's that?" Chuck asked, pointing down at a balloon teddybear being walked down the road by waving parade participants.

"That looks like a balloon," Devon chimed in, mimicking putting a monocle up to his eye. "Why yes, yes I do believe it _is_ a balloon, good chap," he teased in a bad English accent. He'd fought beside the English in the war, some of his greatest friends were Englishmen now, and still the man couldn't do a proper accent. For shame.

"That doesn't count," Ellie argued. "It's much smaller than the monstrosities in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade."

"What kind of a patriot are you, you snob?" Chuck knocked back his champagne and thrust the glass out for more.

His sister eyed him dubiously, but still poured it. "That's not how you're supposed to drink champagne, dear brother."

"I'm on vacation. Fill 'er up."

"You're _always_ on vacation."

And there it was again. He rolled his eyes and moved away from her, going back inside.

"Heeey, I'm not trying to annoy you. I know it annoys you when I get on your case. It's just that you don't really…do anything, you know?"

"I'm doing something right now."

"You're on vacation, spending your days out by the water, on other people's yachts, reading comic books in bed, and then going out to the casinos of Saint-Tropez all hours of the night." She huffed. "I know you aren't much of a gambler, so I don't entirely know _what_ you do when you're out at night."

"I drink and talk with the locals, Ellie. I'm picking up local color, practicing my French, talking to artists. I'm learning about society and history and _people._ I've told you a million times. I don't keep secrets from you, El, and you know that."

"I know. I know, I know. And I believe you. But back home you're…"

"Worth millions upon millions upon millions of dollars."

"You're worth more than just that."

"Ehhhh. We're just short of a cool billion, sis. And the money keeps comin'. Thanks, mom and pops." He gave a quick point upwards. He knew immediately that he'd gotten too trivial about the subject, and he regretted it immediately when Ellie's face hardened.

"Great. That was lovely, Chuck. Congratulations. You've effectively smart-assed your way into being a complete bastard about Mom and Dad. You know what they did for us. And it has little to do with the fortune they left behind."

Chuck let out a long breath and nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, sis. I got too tongue-in-cheek for my own good. I'm grateful to them. Not just for what they did for us, giving us a happy childhood, wanting for nothing, including their affection, but for what they did for our country, the war efforts. They're heroes, and I know that, I just wish they hadn't…" His voice trailed off.

"Me, too," Ellie said quietly, walking up to him and hugging him tightly. "I wish they hadn't. But they did. And you and me? We've done all right these last ten years, haven't we?"

"We've done all right. We always will, s'long as we stick together."

"Awwww, guuuuys! Me, toooo!" Devon bear-hugged both of them tightly, earning laughs from the brother and sister. "I'm not goin' anywhere, either! You both got me!"

"Thanks, brother," Chuck squeaked out, before he was able to break away and chuckle, straightening his dinner jacket.

He smiled at the only family he had left, then waved them to go back out on the balcony. "Go on, enjoy the parade. I'll be right out. Just have to make a quick phone call. I'm going to make sure everything's all right back home. And check on how Morgan's doing with booking my appearances in New England next month."

Ellie gave him a look, but she nodded, walking arm in arm with her husband back outside.

As Chuck went to the phone, he stopped and eyed his sister and brother-in-law again.

He remembered the day they'd found out about their parents. He'd had too many nightmares reliving it to forget.

Devon had already shipped back out to Salerno a few days earlier. Chuck and Ellie were at home, playing cards out on the patio. Ellie had just won again and was rubbing it in when the soldiers arrived. They'd come out of the French doors leading onto the patio, having been led through the house by the Bartowski family's maid, Sally.

He remembered the somber looks on their faces, tasked with a terrible job—the worst job. He remembered feeling sorry for them, which was silly, ridiculous even. Not just because they had to deliver the news of his and Ellie's parents' deaths, but because they then had to go back to the frontline and possibly die themselves.

And then, after crying and holding Ellie, Sally and the family butler Philip standing over them mourning and protecting them all at once, Chuck had been struck with a wave of anger. He'd tried to enlist right there on the spot, begging the men to take him with them. He'd wanted to find a Nazi and give them a slow, lingering death, make them suffer.

But then he'd remembered Ellie. And he'd relented. He wasn't leaving his sister alone, especially not with Devon still out there.

His parents were sent back home through ways of Paris and London, and eventually Washington, D.C. where their children were both flown by the president himself to meet them. Eleanor and Charles received their possessions they'd died with, as well as the medals of honor granted them for the work they'd done, work nobody had known they were doing, including Eleanor and Charles themselves. That had been a shock, and a number of other complicated, difficult emotions had plagued him, on top of grieving their loss.

It had been a secret ceremony, but word had still leaked to the press.

The Bartowskis were wartime heroes, spies for the good side. And Eleanor and Charles became the rich heir darlings of the country. They were the Bartowski living legacy.

Thank God a good bit of that had faded in the last ten years, but he still received certain looks of pride every so often from the people he met. Charles Bartowski, the Bartowski son. Son of heroes.

He loved his parents, he was grateful to them, and he was prouder than words could say. But there was some resentment sometimes—not towards them or the cause they took up, but towards the fact that he'd been left without them. That Ellie hadn't had them at her wedding a year after the war ended. And there were always the people who meant well, but said things about how he might not have their physical presence anymore, what what a lasting legacy of heroism they left, and at least he could hang onto that. As though that was a proper replacement for his mother and father.

They wouldn't be at his wedding, either. If it happened. Eventually. Maybe.

It had almost happened, twice, but damn if he hadn't always picked the wrong women—women who were a 'good fit', from wealthy families, 'well-bred', of a congenial disposition, whatever the hell that meant. He felt like he was just going through the motions, and he knew it, and let those relationships last too long. Much, much too long. He was done with that nonsense now. Though he knew that he'd made the same promise to himself enough times and just didn't care enough to stop.

He shook himself and decided not to call home after all. Sally and Philip were more than capable of keeping things in order. Instead, he picked up the phone and dialed another number. The front desk answered after a few rings.

"Sir, it seems Mr. Grimes is out at the moment. Would you like for us to take a message? He'll receive it upon his arrival back to the hotel."

Chuck sighed. "No, no. That's all right. It isn't important. Thank you."

"Yessir. Let us know if we can do anything else."

"I will."

He hung up and stuck his hands in his pockets. His old friend and personal assistant Morgan Grimes was already out and about and it wasn't even dinner time yet, the rascal.

Wandering back outside onto the balcony, he sidled up to the railing beside Ellie and leaned his elbows on it. "Listen, I've not seen enough of you two lovebirds during the last week we've been here…"

"Hey, you said we'd get a romantic trip. It's less romantic if you're around, little brother," Devon joked, reaching around his wife to nudge Chuck with a closed fist.

"Devon, oh my God…" Ellie breathed.

"Wellll, that's horrible. Thank you for that."

"I hate you both," Ellie murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"And feel free to disappear any time you like, but I was actually just saying that to preface an invite. How would you like to join your little brother for dinner tonight?"

"Dinner?" Ellie exclaimed. "With _you_? Devon, did you hear that? Chuck wants to eat dinner. In public. With us."

"I'm shocked, baby."

"I'm really going to have to get all gussied up," she continued. "My finest jewelry. This is such a momentous occasion…"

"My tie will actually have to match my suit. And I'll have to wear cufflinks."

"Are you both done?"

They laughed at him.

"We'd love to, Chuck," Ellie said, putting a hand on his bicep and squeezing sincerely. "You know, I've loved spending all this time with you this week, as much as we all tease when the three of us are together. I love you."

"I love you, too, El. When we get back to Los Angeles after this whole exciting European romp of ours, we need to see each other more often. I know you two have a lot on your plates, with the medical school grant you've started and all of your stuffy heart surgery talks you do around the country, Captain Awesome."

"Ohhhhh, no. Chuck, don't."

"But, El, I love it. I love when he calls me that. It gets me goin'. You'd do well to use it every so often, ya know?"

"Annnnd never using it again." Chuck pointed at them. "That's done. And also I'm throwing myself off of this balcony."

The married couple laughed as he chuckled and turned to lean back against the railing, eyeing the room inside. "Hey, El. No foolin', why don't you wear Mom's charm bracelet tonight?"

He felt his sister's mirth die, her body going a bit tense next to his. "What?"

"Mom's charm bracelet. Why don't you wear it to dinner? In fact, I'll loan it to you this whole trip. You can wear it tonight, tomorrow, all the rest of the days we're in Saint-Tropez. It looks amazing on you and, um, I dunno. It's Mom's."

"Chuck, you—Did you bring that here? Why?"

"Why not? I thought you'd like to wear it."

"Chuck, that's not for me. Mom left it to you in her will specifically. She wants you to save it for the woman you marry."

"Yeaaaah, yeah. I know. But if it's mine, why can't I let her daughter wear it a few times before I find someone to marry? You deserve it more than anyone else, more than me even."

That got him a flat look. "Chuck. You shouldn't have brought it here. With how much it's worth, you should've left it in the vault in Los Angeles."

"It's wasting away in there. Ellie, just take the nice brotherly gesture and enjoy the bracelet for a while. I want you to. It'd make me happy. And you told me years ago the thing you want most in the world is for me to be happy."

"Yes, well…that was because some viper of a woman broke your heart and I was threatening to strangle her to death with my stocking in front of a crowd of partygoers."

"That was when I knew I'd married the right woman," Devon piped up with a big grin.

Chuck laughed as Ellie gave her husband a long look. "Really? _That_ was when?"

"Um."

The youngest of the three stepped in quickly, deciding to rescue his brother-in-law a bit. "Ellie, maybe if you walk around flaunting it on your wrist, it'll attract women to us and one of them will be my future wife who will get to wear it when we're married. Mom's wish coming to fruition. Full circle. Or something."

"That is ridiculous logic. I'm appalled at how stupid that sounded."

Chuck laughed. "Thank you. Wear it."

"God, fine. I'll wear it. But only because it'll be much safer on my wrist than under your bed, which is where I'm terrified you might have put it."

"I put it in the safe in my bedroom, Ellie," he enunciated slowly, almost offended. "Why would I put that under my bed?"

"That's where you used to stick comic books Sally didn't like you reading. Those big bosomed cartoon women in their super suits."

"That's such an exaggeration and I never want to hear you say 'bosom' or any derivative of it ever again. Are we clear?"

His sister laughed as she followed him inside, neither of them noticing someone else had wandered out onto the next balcony…listening intently to their conversation.

}o{

Chuck laughed as he watched his brother-in-law put his hands on Ellie's shoulders and force her towards the craps table.

"I don't want to!"

"Ellie, please? You're my lady luck!"

" _No one_ is your lady luck, Mr. Woodcomb. You're absolutely dismal at gambling."

"Yes, well…You should have seen me in the trenches at Salerno."

"Did you win a lot of money?" Chuck asked, sticking the hand not holding a martini in his pocket and following behind them.

"Huh?" Devon looked over his shoulder at him. "Oh, no. Not at all. I nearly lost everything down to my underpants." Chuck guffawed as Ellie groused at her husband. "They felt bad for me and gave my things back. Good fellows, all of 'em."

He was still laughing as they sidled up to the table, other gamblers shifting to make room.

"We'll do one game thingy and then you're dancing with me," Ellie told Devon. "Just one."

Chuck watched as they played, deciding to throw in some dough, too. If only the one time. He wouldn't make a habit of it or anything.

After his parents died, Philip had become the biggest male influence in his life, though the man had kept up the appearance of an employer and employee relationship in front of others. He'd taught him things Philip thought Stephen might have wanted his son to know. About right and wrong. About women, though Chuck had managed to avoid most of those conversations. And he'd also made him promise to never engage in gambling. It was easy to lose not just his entire fortune, but his mind. He'd seen his father's friends do it, and he trusted Philip's insistence in the matter.

Granted, that hadn't stopped him from playing here and there. But it held no real power over him. And it wasn't enjoyable. He knew there were better uses for his family's money—things that might actually help people.

And though it wasn't the only reason he did it, it helped that those were the only times he felt like he had some worth—seeing how his family's money could be used to save lives, lift folks up.

Ellie ended up actually being lucky for her husband, and after they won through a round, the couple took their winnings and backed away, headed for the dance floor. Chuck stayed at the table, bobbing a bit to the jazz band and smiling as he continued to play. One of the players rolled then and got a perfect seven.

Everyone playing at the table clapped, including Chuck, and as he raised his eyes to look at her, he immediately felt the air leave his lungs. His hands stopped mid-clap and he just stared.

She was looking right back at him and her eyes were very blue. _Incredibly_ blue. Was there even a word in the English dictionary for how blue they were?

"Lady, yer the luckiest thing wut's come ta this table all night," a middle aged fellow in a white suit and cowboy hat said, pulling his cigar out of his mouth. "If you don't mind continuin' to throw the dice, I'd be much obliged."

The woman broke Chuck's gaze and smiled over at the other man, nodding in thanks, amused. "Unfortunately, that, uh…isn't how the game works."

"Then throw _my_ dice! I'd not mind it a bit!"

She laughed with a shrug, picking the dice up again as everyone finished their bets and rolling once more.

"She's an angel!" the Texan cried out when she rolled exactly what everyone needed.

As the dice eventually moved on from the blue-eyed blond-haired "angel", Chuck found he simply _couldn't_. She was jaw-droppingly stunning. And the thing that had him gasping for breath more than the strapless black silk gown that clung to her figure, adorned with glittering gems at the top, the matching black gloves that went up just above her elbows, the way her blond hair seemed to almost shimmer in the room's romantic lighting… was how expressive, and more important, intelligent those eyes were. Not to mention the way her lips, and mouth in general, had a certain witty amusement in the way they twitched, tilted upwards…She was calm, outwardly, reassuringly so. But then underneath that, there was something…exciting. Or maybe he was just crazy.

But he'd seen plenty of gorgeous women before.

When she turned to him as he was finally handed the dice again, those eyes and that mouth almost seemed to be sharing some inside joke with him. It sent a thrill through his entire body and he sought to ignore it and focus on the dice.

"So what does everyone suggest? Blowing on 'em?" he asked, earning a few groans.

"Man, jes' throw 'em. We don't got all night," the Texan complained.

"You want me to roll well, don't you, friend?" he asked, earning a snide look.

He picked his two dice from the five, then blew on them in his hand. "C'mon," he murmured as he threw them against the wall.

"Eight," the dealer announced. Chuck shrugged as everyone set their bets. He kept his chips on the pass line, then rolled again. And again. And again. Until finally, he rolled an eight again."

Everyone at the table cheered as Chuck threw his arms up over his head. "Well, now you just feel foolish, don't you, sir?" he shot at that Texan, who just chuckled and kept munching on his cigar.

"You can keep bein' a smart ass to me, son, so long as you keep rollin' like that."

"Deal!" he said, laughing.

He meant to leave the table a few times, but he stayed, and it was mostly because she stayed. Until finally, he felt like perhaps he was getting to the point where it might become a problem. Even though he knew it was her he was becoming addicted to and not the gambling.

He thanked the dealers, cashed out, nodded across the table to the woman with the intelligent gaze, and split.

Part of him felt supremely foolish, walking away from a woman like that, but he was at least one hundred and fifty dollars up and that felt as good a place as any to call it quits. Not only that, but women as of late had only proven to bring him pain. God, it wasn't even pain really. He didn't care enough for pain. It was more like…frustration. He had other things to focus on. It wasn't even _all_ women, he knew. But the ones he'd gotten caught up with had done enough of a number on him that he needed a break.

And boy, did that woman seem like trouble…

The way she'd made him feel in just those twenty-five minutes he stood across from her was evidence enough that he needed to walk away. Probably. He actually wasn't sure, now that he was really thinking about it. Maybe he was too mixed up for that sort of thing anyway. Best for everyone involved if he just…didn't.

He took stock of where his family was, saw they were enjoying themselves on the dance floor, and disappeared into the men's room for a few minutes. He splashed water on his face, willing that woman out of his mind, hoping the cold shock of the water might help.

It did. A bit.

And he thought another drink would be the perfect addition to the cold water to the face.

As he got up to the bar, he ordered whiskey on the rocks this time and waited, drumming his fingers against the bar.

"Now why'd you abandon the table just when it was getting hot? That's what I'd like to know."

He jumped a bit, then turned around to see that the woman from the craps table was sitting on the barstool he'd ended up next to. How hadn't he seen her there? She was coyly sipping a martini, playing with the olive at the end of the toothpick as she set it down again.

"Uh, I…"

Chuck cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Oh. No, I—I'm not much of a gambler. Those lucky rolls were just that: luck. And that's rare, so I thought I'd duck away before my luck turned. Like it…always does." He gave her a crooked smile, thanking the bartender and sliding money to him as he put his drink down for him. "Trust me, that wouldn't have been good for you, either. Any of you."

"Even the Texan who called you a smart ass?"

"He can lose all of his damn oil wells and I wouldn't bat an eyelash about it." He winced. "Sorry. Language."

She snorted. "You think he's in oil?" she asked, apparently choosing to ignore his bad language.

"Well…that accent. You read _Giant_ yet? Great book. Texans, oil. Um…I'm making assumptions, is what it is. Stereotyping."

The woman took another sip of her martini. "I pegged him as more of a banker. Men with oil tend to have more of a swagger about them. New money and all that. Bankers, much less so. There wasn't much swagger there. Just…loudness."

Chuck laughed. "He was _very_ loud."

"Mhmmm." She raised her eyebrows, then giggled a bit. "You, on the other hand…"

"Do I have a swagger to me?" He stood up a bit taller, sipping his whiskey. The ice in the glass got stuck for a moment, and then unstuck…making it fall into his nose and spilling a bit of whiskey down his chin. "Sh—Oh." He snagged a napkin as she made an amused choking sound, and he dabbed at his face, checking to make sure no whiskey ended up on his nice tuxedo. "Well, that answers _that_."

She laughed with him. "No, you don't. You seem very much like old money. Secure. Confident."

Chuck glanced over his shoulder as though she was talking to someone else, making her giggle. "Secure? Me? _Confident?_ " He snorted. "Are you looking at me or at someone else?"

"You," she said plainly, smiling. "You must have a lot."

"A…lot?"

"Of money." She sipped her martini again, then lifted the olive, trapped it between her teeth, and slowly pulled the toothpick out of it, before closing her lips around it and chewing, never once taking her gaze from his.

"I…might," he breathed, swallowing hard. His tie was a little tight. Was his tie a little tight? It was. It was a little tight. He should fix that. He did. He reached up and tugged at the knot, doing absolutely nothing apparently, because it still felt hard to breathe.

"It's all right, so do I."

"Oh. I…Really?"

"Yes. Does that scare you?"

"No, why would it? I'm not…pfft no."

"Then would you like to dance with me, Mr. Lucky Eight?"

"I…er…" He threw back the rest of his whiskey and winced a bit. That was some good whiskey. "I warn you, I'm not terribly good at it. Miss Lucky Seven." Because he was a gentleman, he'd sneakily caught a look at her left hand. There was a ring on her index finger, but not on _that_ finger.

"I think you're lying to me. Old money? Surely you _had_ to learn how to dance growing up. Some sort of cotillion for young rich boys."

He scoffed. "This isn't the eighteen hundreds. I didn't learn horse riding or fencing, either."

She raised her eyebrows and snorted, seemingly shocked he'd just come back at her like that. She finished her martini and gestured towards the dance floor. "Just for that, I'm forcing you to dance with me. I have quick feet. You won't step on them."

"Ha!" He thrust his arm out for her to take and she took it, both hands around his bicep, and the way she squeezed his arm as he led her out to the edge of the floor made him feel almost giddy. A grown twenty-seven year old man…giddy.

But then he turned to take her in his arms, folding one of her gloved hands up in his and putting his other hand on her hip, and he thought he could give himself a pass, maybe. Because she truly was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. He knew beauty, too.

She stepped in close and smiled a little, those eyes burning intelligently again as they looked up into his.

"So…what is your actual name?" he finally asked. "Since I'm relatively sure it isn't Lucky Seven."

Her smile turned into a smirk, and she gave him a bit of a side-glance. "I don't think I'll tell you."

"What? Why not?"

"I read something in Vanity Fair about enigmatic women."

"Did you?"

"Mm. Yes. Apparently, they're more fascinating. And I like the idea of being fascinating."

"I think you'd still be incredibly fascinating if your name was…" He squinted at her, thinking. "Elizabeth?"

"No."

"Madeline?"

"No."

"Vera."

"No."

"You're Rose."

"I'm not."

"Thorn."

She laughed, throwing her head back.

"Sorry, it's just that this not-giving-me-your-name thing is rather a thorn. In my side." He grinned at her, swaying back and forth to the music, stepping one…two, stepping again one…two…

She laughed again. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that."

"Yes, you can!" he exclaimed, chuckling as she beamed, her tongue between her teeth. "All you have to do is tell me that your name is…Lana."

"All right, my name is Lana."

He stopped them. "Is it really?"

"No."

"Damn it," he said through his teeth, making her laugh again as he swept her back up and began dancing again. "You're insufferable."

"Oh, no, that's my middle name."

This time, _he_ laughed. "Why won't you just tell me? A first name even."

"That's less fun."

He thought about it. "I suppose you've got me there. What do I tell my sister later when I say I've met the most fascinating woman, and she asks me what your name is?"

"Tell her the truth…"

"Which is?"

"That I wouldn't give it to you."

"Damn." She giggled. "Damn, you keep doing this to me."

"Gosh, I _am_ sorry."

"You aren't a bit sorry."

"No." She giggled again, shaking her head.

The song ended and they stepped away to turn towards the band and clap for them. The conductor bowed to the room, then turned back and started another song. Chuck turned back to take his partner into his arms again, but she was gone. "H-Hey…"

He spun on his heel, looking around for her, any flash of a black, strapless gown…blond hair piled on top of her head…the slope of her shoulders…anything. But as he pushed back through the crowd and wandered the room, he couldn't find her anywhere.

"What on…Earth?" he murmured to himself as he made the rounds through the whole place and came up empty-handed.

She'd vanished.

Was she really an angel?

That was ridiculous. Of course she wasn't.

But how did she get away so fast? _Why?_

"Chuck."

He spun on his heel to see Ellie and Devon approaching, and there was a confused look on his sister's face. "Ellie. Devon. Have you seen a-a woman—?"

"I've seen plenty," Devon announced, earning a look from his wife. "Oh. But none as gorgeous as—I'm done."

Ellie rolled her eyes and turned back. "What are you talking about, Chuck?"

"There was this amazing…" He huffed and shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind. Let's go back into the night and find some ice cream or crepes or something. I need some sugar."

Devon shrugged. "That sounds…good. You all right?"

"I'm fine. All is well."

He led them out of the place, helping his sister into her wrap, taking Devon's hat and his own from the coat check, smiling as he tipped the woman there, and swept out onto the street.

The jolly threesome walked arm in arm down the sidewalk, bantering happily, completely unaware of the pair of blue eyes watching them from the alley across the street.

}o{

It had been a struggle, but Chuck managed to get his sister to agree to wear the charm bracelet again as they went out for brunch and walked down to the pier to enjoy the midday sun. She had tried to say that the charm bracelet was too fine to go with her lace capri pants and light blue button-up, but he'd given her his particular look that let her know he wasn't having it and she relented.

"If I lose this, that's hundreds of thousands of dollars and one of the last things Mom gave us of hers that wasn't part of her actual fortune. And it's going to be your fault, not mine," Ellie said for what must have been the seventeenth time that day.

Chuck rolled his eyes as they crossed the street. "That bracelet is heavy enough that I think you'll be able to tell if it's suddenly not there anymore, dear sister."

"That's what you'd think, dear brother, and yet…"

She stuck her tongue out at him and he blanched. "Honestly. You're almost thirty-two years old, Eleanor."

"Mmm yes, and I'm not ashamed of myself a bit."

Chuck bought them all ice cream at a small parlor along the beach, and they enjoyed it as they strolled down the busy coastline street. It became warm enough during the mid-afternoon that Chuck had to fan himself with his own hat halfway through their leisurely stroll, taking his suit jacket off and draping it over his arm, leaving him in just his button-up shirt, his tie loose.

"Wait!"

They stopped at Devon's exclamation after an hour of walking through the coastal city's streets and buying things, shopping, pointing out exciting knick knacks and items of clothing through shop windows. Chuck bought a new hat, specifically for the beach. It was the same color as the sand, with a navy blue band around the base of the hat. It was his new "beach hat", he decided, putting it on instead of his hat he'd left the hotel wearing, feeling like he fit in much better, even if it didn't altogether match the suit he'd chosen.

"What is it?" Ellie asked, fixing her sunglasses.

"That's the Saint-Tropez Chellequin jewelry store. That's top of the line, rare gems…We don't have one in America. They have one other Chellequin in Paris and that's it. This is the original store."

"Are you sure?" Chuck asked.

He'd never heard of the Chellequin. Not that he was a jewelry connoisseur by any means. But the jewelry store's meticulously drawn decal on the window was the only thing that looked particularly fancy about it. There was a revolving door, which he supposed made it fancier. But the building didn't have that Saint-Tropez old, pristine look to it that their most expensive, oldest restaurants, hotels, and other establishments in the city center had.

"Of course I'm sure. I've seen pictures of the outside in magazines."

"What magazines are you reading?" he asked.

"Whatever magazines Ellie leaves lying around the house, honestly. I don't know. They're interesting. It sounds like a real blast, though. Let's go in."

"I'm not buying anyone any jewelry," Chuck promised, holding a hand clutching bags up. "I've reached my limit."

Ellie snorted. "Don't worry, Chuck. Nobody expects you to buy anything. But let's go in. I'd like to see what it's like in the original Chellequin."

Biting back a put upon sigh, Chuck Bartowski nodded, gesturing for his sister and her husband to lead the way to the shop. He didn't understand the appeal. Diamonds looked like fancy glass. And while he found colorful gems and stones more beautiful than diamonds, throwing thousands of dollars at it seemed ridiculous. Was it because people found them pretty? Or was it just status? Perhaps a little of both.

As Devon held the door for them both to sweep inside, Chuck felt a gust of cool air. It felt like Heaven inside, and it looked like Heaven, too.

The Chellequin was decorated to look like La Belle Époque, complete with opulent gigantic chandeliers, gold filagree covering everything, mirrors everywhere. Stands stood in the corners with feminine hats from that era, covered in gigantic colored feathers. Lights shone down from the ceiling onto the cases with incredibly large stones trapped on rings, necklaces, earrings…

"Oh, this is magical," Ellie breathed, covering her mouth as though she hadn't been in places that looked similar to this too many times to count in her life. They'd both been born with silver spoons in their mouths—silver spoons decorated with heinously large diamonds and other rare gems, to be more accurate.

Though he had to admit, there was a particular warmth to this place, even while he felt a sensation go through him…something like reverence…upon seeing the pieces of jewelry. They were displayed like art, with such singularity and intensity.

It made him almost nervous.

"Oh, look at this one," Ellie said, going to the main case and pointing down at an elephant pendant that was the size of a silver dollar. "Is that…mother of pearl?"

"I…don't know," Chuck and Devon said at the same time, and in the same tone.

"Yes, mademoiselle. Zis is nacre," a salesman sidled up to the other side of the case. "Nacre in ze center zere. And ze elephant's trunk is lined with blende gems. You are Americans?" he asked.

"Yes, we are."

"Ah, zen you would call zis ze sphalerite, I believe? It's not as hard, zis stone. But ze orange and red mixture is fascinating, no?"

"It's beautiful."

"Shall I take it out of ze case so you can see it better?" he asked.

Devon sent Chuck a look that clearly said, _Oh, no_ …

"Lovely, thank you."

Chuck held back a wince as the man beamed and went into the case, unlocking it with a key and sliding it open. "The sphalerite is rare?" he asked the older man.

"Oh, yes, sir. Well, no…let me rephrase. Ze stone itself in general? Not _as_ rare, no. But zese stones are. It's all in ze way zey are cut. You see ze patterns here. How ze cleavage is." He held the elephant pendant up for Ellie to see, letting it dangle between his fingers delicately. "Ze chain is pure silver. And here ze eyes are actual diamonds. Would you like to hold it, Miss…?"

"Mrs," she corrected with a smile. "Mrs. Eleanor Bartowski-Woodcomb."

The man blanched. "Bartowski?"

"Yes, we're those Bartowskis," Chuck murmured. "Please, I'm begging you, though, don't—"

"Oh, Mrs. Bartowski…Woodcomb, pardon me. I had no idea we—that you—I beg your pardon. Please, if zere is anyzing else I can help you wiz…"

"That's all right. And I don't need to hold it. You can put it back if you'd like. It's rather too large for me. I feel like it might weigh me down a bit."

The man smiled and nodded at her, starting to put it back, but a voice cut in from behind them.

"No, please. Keep it out. As a matter of fact, I'll take everything you have, if you don't mind."

Chuck thought he recognized the voice from somewhere…

And as he slowly turned to look, he heard the other people in the shop gasp, one woman screaming.

The same woman from last night stood before them, her thick blond hair down and spilling to her shoulders in elegant waves with some of it pulled back in diamond encrusted barrettes, her tall slim body clad in an ocean blue dress that flared out at her knees and was cinched at the waist by a thin white belt that matched her white heels.

This time, however, her intelligent blue eyes were flashing, her lips widened in a disingenuous smile.

Oh, and she was holding a gun.

…Oh.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh. OH.

Hehehehehehe. Until next time! Please leave a review! They're nice (even if I'm not).

-Evil Steampunk . Chuckster


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Phew, I was hoping for some fun responses and you awesome lovely amazing radical people did. not. disappoint. I love your theories. I love your ideas. I love all of it. This is an AU that's pretty different from canon, so there might be some slight alterations in your favorite characters. I've strayed a bit further off the beaten path with Chuck and Sarah than I have in the past. That said, canon Chuck and Sarah are still very much there. Heavily so. Deliciously so.

And speaking of delicious, let's continue, shall we? ...

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own CHUCK. I do not own the CHUCK characters. I do not own the 1950s. If I did, I would have put a stop to that styrofoam crap immediately.

* * *

Chuck looked over her shoulder at the others who'd apparently followed the woman inside. There were two other women with her, one with dark hair and the other with red hair, both of them stunning, in elegant Parisian high fashion—a knee-length skirt, blouse, matching blazer, pillbox hat… and both of them were incredibly well-drilled, steady, eyes hard and observant.

The redhead locked the revolving door, then flipped the sign, pulling the blinds shut. The brunette corralled the rest of the shoppers into a corner, threatening them with her revolver, a clipped and calm, "That's right. Move," almost even more intimidating than the gun she held.

The guard came through from the hallway and for a moment Chuck thought they were saved, but then he saw the gun against the guard's back, and finally a tall, barrel-chested fell came out behind him. He was wearing a long overcoat and a hat with the bill pulled down over his eyes. Chuck didn't want to stare too hard at the square, clenched jaw, for fear the gun would move from the guard to train it on him. The man accompanying the women stepped to the side to stop one of the clerks who meant to run out the back door. He smirked just a little, waved the clerk into the group with his gun, pushed the guard into the room, and blocked the only other exit.

He must be the leader, Chuck thought. Big tough man, ordering around three pretty women. How did these women get into this business, he wondered? How did the blonde fall in with this troupe? Was it blackmail, perhaps? His imagination ran wild with scenarios that excused her role in this obvious robbery. The man had her father captive. That had to be it.

Chuck felt like tackling the man. Would it free her, he wondered?

He'd get lead in him if he tried it, he knew.

And he wasn't so sure it wouldn't be the blonde who'd do it with the way she was holding that gun like she'd held it plenty of times before.

She had her gun on him, Ellie, Devon, and the sales clerk behind the counter…but her eyes were just on him. Did she recognize him from the night before? That intelligent tilt of her mouth he hadn't stopped thinking about since then told him she did. Maybe she'd even known who he was then.

"W-What is zis?" the clerk behind him asked. "What are you doing?"

"With your permission," she said, raising her eyebrows, "we're robbing your store."

"Oh! I—"

"If you'd please come out from behind the counter with your hands up," she said calmly and clearly, pointing her gun just at him now. "I don't like the idea of using this revolver, but if you stray too close to the alarm I know is under that cash drawer, I'll have to."

The clerk came out from behind the counter, his hands up by his head.

"And if you'd please have a seat on the floor here. I don't like the idea of people lurking over my shoulder when I'm working."

She smiled at Chuck, Ellie, and Devon, then, gesturing for them to do the same. Perhaps she didn't recognize him after all?

"You as well, Mr. Lucky Eight. Please." Then she raised an eyebrow. "So we meet again."

"Damn," he breathed in response, lowering himself to the ground beside Ellie.

She gave him a surprised look. "I was under the impression you might want to see me again. Why else do you think I'm here?" she asked, a teasing look in her eyes as she took a few steps back and glanced over her shoulder to survey the rest of the room, checking on her comrades, no doubt. The brunette had already made the rest of the hostages sit down.

The guard their male companion found in the back had been unarmed by the redhead and was being walked over. She unceremoniously pushed him to plop onto the ground next to the clerk who'd been helping them.

"Why don't you _do_ somezing?" the clerk hissed.

" _You_ do somezing! I am unfamiliar wiz zee procedure under ze circumstances."

Chuck inwardly rolled his eyes at the exchange. What was it they always said? _So hard to find good help these days._

He turned to the blonde and responded. "I think a simple, 'Hey, want to meet for coffee tomorrow?' would've done the trick. This is rather much."

She sniffed in amusement, eyeing him again with a smirk. "I heard Hairpiece over here call you Bartowski. So you _are_ the Bartowskis."

"We aren't telling you a damn thing," Ellie growled. Chuck saw Devon put his hand on her wrist in his peripheral. That was a good idea. His sister had a temper. Fear made her angry, and she wasn't shy by any means. Chuck really didn't want her being shot today.

The robber went on, thankfully, as though Ellie hadn't said anything. "Your parents were war heroes. Spies. We have a lot of respect for them, for what they did to save so many people. Isn't that right, girls?" she asked over her shoulder.

The other two women just smirked as they moved around the room, starting to shovel jewelry into suitcases he hadn't even seen them bring in, opening jewelry boxes, taking bracelets and necklaces and earrings.

The man still said nothing, his jaw clenched. Even though he couldn't see half of his face, Chuck was sure he was watching everyone from under the brim of the hat, watching for any sudden movements.

"Then let us go," Ellie said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, don't worry. We will. We just came by to pick up a few things. I'm sure it'll all be restocked by tomorrow," she said, stepping back until she was standing next to one of the display cases. "Are these alarmed, Hairpiece?"

"Er, i-it's actually Monsieur Dubois—"

"Excuse me, Monsieur Dubois. Of course." She nodded her head respectfully. "Are these alarmed?"

"N-No, mademoiselle. Zey are not alarmed. We—ahem—we remove zem at night and keep zem in ze safe in ze back. Zen we replace zem in ze morning." He ran a hand down the front of his tuxedo.

"Hm. I approve of this method. I know this is insured, as well, isn't it?"

"Oui," he said.

"Then don't look so downcast. Watch him," she murmured to the man standing at her shoulder. The man just nodded once, slowly, and shifted his gun to point at the clerk. And then she went into one of the cases, gently pulling what must be a rare stone out between two of her gloved fingers. "South Africa, or Sumatra?" she asked, looking at the clerk.

"Sumatra," he said, pitifully.

"Mmmm. Cut in Amsterdam, no doubt."

"Oui, it was."

She handed it off to the man in the overcoat who slipped it into his inner coat pocket. That took some trust, Chuck thought to himself.

He had since figured out how wrong he'd been at first.

The man wasn't the leader. And he felt foolish for automatically assuming that was the case. In spite of the situation, he inwardly chastised himself. This was not a woman to be ordered around. He couldn't imagine her ever taking orders from anyone, even last night when he'd first met her. There was gravity in the way she moved, power in the way she spoke. She had control of this situation, and probably every situation she ever entered into.

And what an absolute fool he was for thinking he was some sort of savior for these women, as though they weren't fully aware of what they were doing, as though they had no autonomy of their own. He felt the idiot.

"Was last night a coincidence, then?" Chuck couldn't help asking. "Or did you know whom I was and you purposely got me alone to proposition me?"

Ellie whipped her head around. "What?!"

The robber glanced back at him and lifted one perfect eyebrow, stepping a bit closer, but, he noticed, still keeping a smart distance, her gun at her side, at the ready just in case, but he noticed, not pointed at him anymore. "Proposition?" Amusement made her mouth quiver. "Oh, Mr. Bartowski, you would've known if I was propositioning you."

He swallowed. "Well, that doesn't answer my question at all."

"Mmm, no. I'm not very good at answering questions. I should think you might've figured that out last night."

"What is happening?" he heard Devon whisper into his wife's ear.

"I have no. damn. idea," she hissed back.

"Is it Amanda?" Chuck asked the robber, ignoring his sister and brother-in-law.

"No."

"Damn. I thought I had it that time."

She bit the inside of her cheek and moved away from him, and he took the opportunity to slowly get up to his feet. The large man tensed, but she reached out to put a hand on his arm and stop him, gracefully going back in the case, pulling more gems out and slipping them inside of the lining of her dress.

"You knew who we were and followed us here. What do you want from us? Money? We don't carry all of it with us, you know. We'd need to walk around with guys pushing wheelbarrows after us. A lot of wheelbarrows. See, we've got quite a bit of money," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Get the hands out of the pockets," the redhead snapped. He did, holding his hands up.

"Sorry. I forgot myself."

"See that you don't forget yourself," the blonde said. "We came into this jewelry shop to rob it. Girls…?"

The brunette and redhead moved faster as they gathered as much of the jewelry as they possibly could.

"It has nothing to do with you, and if you're boasting about your money to try to hint that you'll pay us off, nice try," the blonde said.

"I was merely stating a fact."

"I'll admit you _are_ an added bonus. A coincidence of sorts, and a bonus. Rather a shame you have to see this, honestly, because I kinda liked you, rich boy."

The anger Chuck was feeling at watching this beautiful historical place trashed by these criminals stopped for a moment, and he did a double take, looking back at the blonde who was collecting more of the rare stones from the case in the center of the room.

"W-Wait, really?"

Ellie spun on him and smacked his leg. Hard.

"O-ow. It was just a question."

The robber snorted quietly and looked back at him. "Really."

"Th-That doesn't matter. You scoped me out last night. What other reason was there for you to be at that craps table, the way you followed me and how you got me to dance with you?" he demanded to know.

"You followed _me_. I was already sitting at the bar, enjoying my drink. And maybe I just wanted to dance."

"Utter lies. You knew who we were and you want something from us, specifically. You don't have all day, and neither do we, so what—?"

There was a screech. "No! No, my wedding ring! You can't have it!"

A woman in the group at the back of the room was fighting the brunette as she tried to take the ring with the incredibly large diamond off of her finger.

The blonde rolled her eyes and turned to face the issue. "You can give it to us, or we can hold you down to get it. What'll it be?"

"This is a prized possession! My husband gave it to me—"

"Isn't that what a wedding ring _is_ , lady? These people are idiotic," the brunette said.

The woman continued to rail against the robbers, until the leader finally snapped, crossing the room. "Will you please _shut up_?" The other woman huffed and put a hand to her chest, affronted.

And Chuck saw an opportunity he'd been waiting for this whole time, so he took it. He knelt down and put his hand on Ellie's shoulder as the robbers were distracted by the argument, and he met her eyes. _Bracelet_ , he mouthed and her eyes went wide. She took it off quickly and passed it to him so that he could slip it in the back pocket of his pants. He straightened up and she turned away as though nothing had happened.

"I'm trying to have a conversation," the leader of the robber band said through her teeth.

Meanwhile, Chuck saw the redhead picking and prodding at the clothing of their hostages, nicking expensive tie clips, cufflinks, necklaces, and earrings from them. She pulled away one of the men's suit lapels and found a clip he'd probably tried to hide there when they first announced they were robbers and she delicately trapped the clip between her teeth. She beamed and grandiosely gave it back to him, shaking her finger with a _tsk tsk tsk_. That was a fake, then. The man looked angry and embarrassed both.

But then the leader was in front of him again. "If you'd pardon me, you're blocking this case and there are some things inside of it that I want very much…"

He furrowed his brow and stepped to the right, turning to watch her as she worked, her fingers skillful and quick as she slipped the glass door open and delicately slipped them behind her for the man to take and stash in a velvet bag Chuck hadn't seen him holding before. Again. These were absolute professionals.

This had been planned for a while. And this wasn't this particular team's first time doing this. He gazed at the woman as she slowly lifted her eyes up to meet his, before smiling a little and going back to the case.

"Has anyone told you your eyes look like axinite? Pure axinite."

Chuck raised his eyebrows at her. "I've never heard of axinite."

"What a shame. It's a very beautiful mineral. And rare."

"Are you complimenting my eyes?"

"Was that not apparent?" She straightened up, handing off the last piece of jewelry and giving him a look.

He swallowed hard.

"Boss." She turned and looked at the man as he lifted his wrist and tapped his watch. "Protection officer is on his way now. Four o'clock, on the dot."

"Zank ze heavens," the clerk breathed out, mopping his brow with a kerchief, starting to scramble up to his feet.

"Oh, I'd nearly forgotten about that. Thank you for the reminder, Jay." She turned around. "Everyone on your feet. You two, take those chairs." Two of the women sat down quickly in the nearby elegant plush chairs. "Z, C, bring the suitcases."

The other two women rushed over, the redhead swiping "Jay's" velvet bag from him and stuffing it inside of the suitcase she held, shutting it securely, and putting it on the case in front of the blonde.

Chuck moved around the robber to help Ellie to her feet as Devon was busy helping the guard and clerk.

"You, go back around like you're helping the Bartowskis with their purchase." The clerk hurried around to the other side. "And no sudden movements. Jay…" She nodded her head towards the clerk and the burly man moved quick, grabbing the guard by his collar and whipping him around to stand next to the clerk. Then he ducked down to where they couldn't see him anymore. Chuck had no doubt he was crouching down with his gun pointed at both of the men to ensure they wouldn't say or do anything foolish.

"One last favor," she said in a calm, congenial voice, meeting the clerk's eyes, then swinging her gaze over to meet the guard's. They both nodded. "When the officer enters, just talk to him calmly and leisurely, as if nothing's amiss. Tell him you still have half an hour's work to do, do you understand?"

"Oui. Oui, I understand," the clerk said, gulping.

She stuck her hand with her gun into the pocket of the blazer she wore, the other women doing the same, even as the brunette went to open the blinds, turn the sign back to open, and unlock the door.

"None of you should find it difficult to be calm while my revolver is pointed at you. And none of you will speak unless spoken to."

Clearing her throat and reaching up with her other hand, she delicately fixed an errant tendril of hair back out of her face. "Let's talk, shall we? We don't want to disturb our friend."

The officer came around the corner, walked past the window, and pushed through the revolving door to step inside just as the blonde finished telling them about Lake Como in the summer.

They all turned to watch as the officer ambled in, a tired look on his face. "Well, here I am, Monsieur Dubois. On time, as always. I can always be depended upon, no?"

Chuck watched Dubois closely and saw him shaking a little as he cast his eyes downward. He gave a nervous gulp and tensed. He wondered if Jay had stuck a gun to the clerk's leg.

"You are a little early, in fact, Officer," he finally said, clearing his throat as he nodded his head in greeting. "I still have work to do. Might you come back in half an hour?"

"Of course. I will come back." He began to move towards the door but then he halted, casting his eyes around the store. "All ze jewels being put away, are zey?"

"Oh, oui. Oui, every last piece," he said, pain behind the words. Chuck diverted his gaze from the man and caught a twitch in the blonde's mouth, as though that had amused her somewhat.

"I zink zat's very smart, Monsieur Dubois. It's very unsafe to leave all of zese priceless gems, ze gold and ze silver, out all night. I do have to wonder why you do it so early…"

Chuck felt a sweat break out on his forehead. _Think fast, Dubois. Think fast…_

When the man didn't think fast enough, the blonde answered for him. "Dubois is taking vacation and closing shop early. Isn't that what you said, Monsieur?"

The officer turned and appraised the beautiful woman, seeming no less charmed than anyone else might be by someone of her striking appearance.

"Oui, zat is what I said," he replied, nodding emphatically.

"Vacation! Well, zat is good news. Headed to ze Alps to visit your sister?"

"Alps. Oui. My sister. Oui."

"Zat is _fine_." Then he looked around. "And I commend you, taking care of your priceless merchandise like zis, Monsieur Dubois."

"You know, you might be my echo," the blonde said. "I said the very same thing to my girlfriends, didn't I?" She turned and beamed at the redhead and the brunette, earning smiles back. The officer was enchanted and used the opportunity to stand straighter and show off a bit.

"Always be suspicious, I say. Never trust anyone, _especially_ if zings seem just a liiiittle bit out of place or strange, I am zere. Doing my duty. Protecting zese shops from ze bad people." He smoothed his fingers over his mustache.

Chuck rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide it.

"Ah. You _are_ from the Protective Agency, aren't you?" she asked him then, awe in her voice.

"Oui, Mademoiselle. I am."

"I've never met an officer from the Protective Agency," she hummed, shifting her weight and fixing the skirt of her dress as though trying to impress him.

The man was shining bright like a newly polished button as he lifted his chin proudly. "Well, I aim to please, Mademoiselle." He saluted her and smirked. He probably thought he was charming.

"Actually, since you mention it, I was wondering if you…might do me and my lady friends a bit of a favor? We'd be in your debt, Officer."

"Anyzing you wish," he said with an eager bow.

"Would you mind terribly taking these suitcases of ours out to our car? It's parked just outside at the curb." She put a graceful hand on top of one of the suitcases.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure. My absolute pleasure."

"Thank you."

He grinned and grabbed the two suitcases, slipping them off of the case, but they quickly weighed him down, almost causing him to hit the ground himself. "Oh, zey…zey are very heavy. I see why you needed help…"

"It's gold," she said smoothly.

"Gold, eh?" His eyes widened almost comically.

"Yes, Officer."

"I see. Having it taken away to get it melted, are we?"

"Yes, tomorrow a whole lot is getting melted," the redhead said without missing a beat.

Chuck bit his cheek. This was pathetic and he couldn't help being almost amused by the entire thing.

"Make sure Officer…er…"

"Tomis," he said with a bow.

She smiled charmingly. "Make sure Officer _Tomis_ can get the suitcases into the trunk all right, will you?" she asked and the brunette smiled and took the officer out front, chatting with him all the while.

Once the door shut again, a mischievous glint came into the blonde's blue eyes.

"That was utterly pathetic," Ellie murmured.

"And yet impressive all at once," Devon said. He got a look from his wife and shrugged. "You have to admit, it was smooth."

"Delicious," Chuck muttered, his eyes on the blonde. She turned her eyes on him and he saw they were dancing with…well, he didn't know what.

"Wasn't it, though?" she asked. And then she turned on her heel as the door opened again. "Is he gone?"

"We have until four thirty before he returns," the brunette said, stepping inside and shutting the door securely. She locked it and turned the sign again, not seeming to want to bother with the blinds this time.

"Well done. We're finished playing games, now. It's time to get a move on. All of you, get these people somewhere in the back and tie them up. You know the drill: one of you watch 'em, the rest of you come out here and finish the job. Jay? Take the car 'round to the alley." She took her hand out of her pocket, revolver still in her palm.

"Y-You aren't going to kill us, are you?" the Englishman with the fake gold tie clip asked, his face white as a sheet.

"If you'd rather I didn't, I suggest you do everything my friends tell you to do."

The three other robbers gathered people up and slowly started herding them into the back. "Not the safe," the leader said. "I have business there."

Then she turned back. "You think you're exempt?" she asked Chuck, Ellie, and Devon.

"No," Devon said, shaking his head. "No, w-we're going."

"Good. Hurry up." She waved them along. And as they filed past, she flattened her palm against Chuck's chest, stopping him. "But you—you I want locked up alone," she said. "You're wily and I don't trust you won't concoct some mutinous something or other if you have an accomplice."

Ellie spun on her heel. "No. You leave him alone. He—" But Devon had his hand over her mouth and he was pulling her away as she struggled against him. Chuck met his gaze gratefully.

He had a gut feeling he'd be all right, no matter what.

The blonde guided him towards the back and took him through the double doors into the washroom. They pushed through the doors and she gestured for him to stay. "…If you please."

"In the washroom? Absolutely not. I won't," he said with a frown. And then he hurried through the doors and shut them securely with a, "Ha _ha_!", effectively locking her inside by turning the lock on the door to his left. But then the door on the right opened and she stepped through it. He sagged as she cleared her throat daintily, moving away from the doors altogether.

"I told you you're wily," she hummed.

"Why's there a lock only on one door? What the hell's the point of that?

The blonde moved in front of him then and peered up at him. She really was tall. Nowhere near his six feet and four inches, even in her heels, but still tall. Much taller than the average woman, even an inch or so taller than Ellie, he thought.

"All right, if you're going to be stubborn, I suppose I have no choice but to make you help me. You're going to get me into that safe."

He furrowed his brow in confusion as he followed her back into the hallway. "It isn't _my_ safe. Why would I know how to get into it?"

"You're incredibly mouthy for someone who's on the receiving end of a jewel robbery."

"It's a curse."

He could see he biting the inside of her cheek again as she diverted her gaze and twisted her lips to the side. "I have the combination to the safe, you cheeky thing. And you're the only man in this building under the age of fifty who might be strong enough to actually pull it open."

Chuck frowned in question. "My brother-in-law has three times the strength I have, is under forty, and-and what about that beefy guy who's on your actual team? Jay, is it?"

She blinked. "Just move."

He held his hands up and shrugged, letting her prod him towards the back with a hand on his shoulder. In spite of everything, he smirked a little. He wasn't the only one who could open that safe. She could open it herself, he warranted. He'd felt her strength and control on the dance floor the night before. And he had to assume the clerks could all open the safe as well, otherwise, how would they get in?

Did she think he was stupid?

He had half a mind to ask. But then she steered him to the left, down a small hallway towards the safe. "You said you have business with me," he remembered suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"I do."

"Ransom?"

"Perhaps. How much do you think they'd be able to shell out if I promise the safe return of the Bartowski children?"

"I'm not a child," he said.

"Oh, trust me, I noticed."

And just what did _that_ mean? He couldn't see her face. So he didn't know. But there _had_ been a tone.

"What do you think, a few million?"

"Oh, come now. We're worth more than _that_ ," Chuck said, sending her a sassy look.

"Are you? I'm surprised you don't go around with armed guards to keep girls like me away from you," she said, sidling up to the combination lock on the safe door. She sent him a warning look he took quite clearly. If he tried anything again, he'd be in a lot of trouble.

"I thought about it at first, but I'm too much of a free spirit."

She snorted, letting out a quiet giggle. And then she looked at him as though she hadn't meant to do that, like she was frustrated with him for making her do it, and then she went back to turning the little wheel to the correct numbers.

"How did you get that combination?"

"I don't answer questions. What do I have to do to get that through your head?"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I'm usually a very good listener. You just bring out the worst in me."

She made a soft choking sound and bit her lip, just as there was a loud click behind the safe door. "That sounds like pay dirt."

"It sounded like a safe door unlocking to me."

She sent him a flat look and he shrugged innocently. Then she gestured with the gun for him to open it. That made him smirk in spite of the dangerous situation he was in, and he went up to the door and grabbed two of the rungs on the wheel, straining just a bit to get it turning. After a few turns, he felt the door pop back a bit and he gave it a yank, opening it wide enough for her to comfortably walk through.

But she was smart and she didn't go inside this time, merely peering in from a safe distance. If she went in alone, she must know he'd shut it on her, lock her inside.

Something inside of him was further intrigued by her. Those intelligent eyes of hers weren't lying.

"I'm going to hand you a bag and I need you to go in there and fill it with as much as you can."

"Are you making me an accomplice?"

She rolled her eyes and handed him the bag.

"It's either this or the washroom."

"I just hoped I'd get to at least my thirtieth birthday without a criminal record."

"Get in there."

He widened his eyes and moved around the door. It was open just wide enough for him to scoot past her.

"Excuse me," he murmured. She had room to move back, away from him, so that he didn't have to touch her to get by, but she didn't budge, instead looking right inside of him with those scandalously delectable blue eyes of hers. He felt their chests brush and a shiver went through him, and then he was inside of the safe, taking in a deep breath to calm himself.

"Are you wanting me to put the actual jewelry in the bag, or would you rather cut out the middle man and go straight for the francs?" he asked, slinging the bag over his shoulder jauntily and putting a hand on his hip.

She stared at him for a long moment, and then she came into the safe with him…slowly…carefully. He was also careful not to make any sudden movements.

"Who do you think you are? Cary Grant? So suave and confident, with that charming smile of yours that wrinkles your nose a little…"

"Does my nose wrinkle when I smile? I never knew."

"Do I have to remind you that I'm robbing this store? You, your sister, your brother-in-law, the clerks, the guard, the rest of the people here…You're all hostages until my colleagues and I get out of here safely, with everything we came for. This isn't a game." Her eyes flashed dangerously.

He swallowed hard.

"Cary Grant was much more suave than this. And I'm terrible at accents."

"You're insufferable."

"Another one of my curses."

"Fill the damn bag. I don't have much time."

He nodded and just grabbed whatever he could, deciding he shouldn't press his luck _too_ much.

But it wasn't just him and they both knew it. The way she stood close to him, the unsure quiver in her eyes, the way she was currently running said eyes up and down his lithe form because she didn't think he could see her doing it. This was a two-sided attraction. They were drawn to each other. There was intense electricity between them. He wasn't alone. This was so bizarre and exciting.

And he thought perhaps his dull, repetitive lifestyle had driven him mad, that he'd snapped and that was why this was happening. He'd gone off the deep end.

Well, he might as well accept it and enjoy the going…

As he stood up, the bag filled with francs and priceless pieces of jewelry, he eyed her. "Now that you've gotten me alone, separated me off from everyone else, what do you mean to do with me? Is it ransom you want, really? Or…is it me you want?"

She seemed unprepared for that line of questioning. She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. Then she reached up with the hand not holding the gun, her gloved fingers pushing a few golden tendrils away from her face.

"You're too chatty for us to continue like this," she said then, diverting her gaze yet again and going into her blazer pocket, pulling a cloth from it. "I'm afraid we're losing sight of the main object."

"My sight is just fine, thank you."

"That. It's that exactly. I can't have you doing that anymore, because my sight…" She swallowed thickly, then seemed to trust him enough to set her gun down, reaching up to put the makeshift gag across his mouth. He didn't flinch or pull back, just looking into her eyes. And she paused, lowering the cloth and looking directly at his lips. "I don't understand you," she breathed, and he gaped a little, surprised at her candidness.

"It's probably that, uh, I don't use my words very well. It's a problem I have…with my mouth."

"You have a beautiful mouth," she murmured.

He widened his eyes, then felt a bit of a crooked smile tilt at his lips. "Well, thank you. But I thought you didn't like my mouth. Hence the, uh, that." He looked down at the cloth she still held in both hands.

"How are you so handsome?" she asked, her voice softening. "It's hard to be brutal with you."

He heard the slight teasing in that last part.

"That's the first time a woman's ever said anything like that to me." He couldn't breathe. She really was so close, and leaning ever closer.

"Is it also the first time a woman's held a gun on you?" She broke his gaze, a bit of a blush on her cheeks, he couldn't help noticing. But she put the cloth back in her pocket and grabbed her gun again.

He preferred the gag to the gun.

"Yes," he said, tilting his head. "I'm sure there've been a few who've _wanted_ to, but just didn't have a gun near enough to actually do it."

She let out a low, gusty giggle that made his blood boil at dangerous levels. But then a serious look came over her face, her eyes curious. "I do have a gun, though. And you aren't afraid."

Chuck sniffed softly, a self-deprecating smirk on his face for a moment, and then he looked up at her through his eyelashes. "Please. I'm not a fool. Of course I'm afraid. You think just because you're a beautiful woman, I assume you won't use that gun you're holding on me? I wouldn't do you or myself the disservice. That would be flat-out stupid. Of course I'm afraid," he repeated.

"Then…why?"

He didn't entirely know what her 'why?' was referring to, but he cleared his throat and reached out to very carefully and gently put his hands on her waist. She flinched, her body going rigid under his touch, but she didn't shoot him or hit him. She just stared, wide-eyed. All he did was move her away from him, just an extra foot. And he took a deep breath, taking his hands off of her.

"There," he said with a sigh of relief. "It's hard for me to function with you so close."

She seemed almost a little stunned by that.

"Sorry, was that too bold? Too honest?"

She shook her head. But she didn't say anything.

"Miss Lucky Seven, there's something you need to know about me. About my life."

"I don't have much time," she said, walking out of the safe.

He followed after her. "Oh, I know. I know. Don't worry, I won't give you my whole life story."

She just gazed at him a little.

"See, I'm Charles Bartowski, son and heir of Stephen and Mary Bartowski. My parents were war heroes, spies for the United States military, killed in action, so to speak. Canonized into legends. I inherited that legacy, along with an incredible fortune. That's all stuff you know, I'm sure. But what you don't know is that ever since that day, after the whirlwind of my parents' death, and the psychologists, and condolences and well-wishes from people around the globe started to settle down, it's been a never-ending cycle of funding charity events, public appearances… And no matter how many veterans get roofs over their heads and food because of my work, how many schools are funded, projects are started…and on the other side of the coin, no matter how many parties I go to, how many trips I take to Europe…" He gestured around them with one hand. "Every day seems like it's exactly the same as the last. I'm in a rut. And I believe I've been in a rut for five years straight, if not longer. Then last night you appeared across that craps table from me and we danced, and I felt a thrill in me that I can't remember ever feeling before. I can't explain. Maybe it was like I was…on a rollercoaster or something. And then you disappeared and as crazy as this sounds, it gave me even more of a thrill. I mean, who just _disappears_ out of thin air like that? It lit a fire in me."

He watched as her chest rose rapidly, her nostrils flaring, a heat in her blue eyes. So he went a step further.

"Did you know, I actually dreamt about you?"

"You dreamt about me?" Her voice was quiet, and still so strong, her eyes not leaving his for even a moment.

"Yeah, I did."

She swallowed. "And what kind of a dream are we talking about here, rich boy?"

Chuck bit his lip, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes. "Now it's my turn not to answer _your_ question."

She raised her eyebrows and then sniffed in amusement, ducking her head, then looking up at him through her eyelashes a bit coyly. "I had that one coming."

"You definitely did."

He got a full smile from her for that, and it was so beautiful he lost his ability to breathe for a moment, and then she seemed to shake herself a bit, sobering up. "I really don't have time for this." She grabbed the bag he'd filled for her and stepped back. "Now get back in that safe."

"What? In the safe? Why?"

"Because the police will be here in a few minutes and I don't really trust you very much. Get in there."

"Why can't you just let us go? You can take the jewels. I'm not going to stop you. I don't care about them. I won't report you to the police, either. I have a feeling they'd never believe me anyway." He looked at her a bit dreamily.

She huffed. "It's safe in there."

"I suppose that's why they call it a safe, huh?"

She softened a little, then shook herself again, pointing towards the safe with her gun. "Please. The safe," she said in a stern tone. It was so stern, he was almost amused.

"Certainly," he conceded, walking to the door of the safe.

"Thank heaven," he heard her breathe, and he smirked inwardly.

But then he stopped at the door, not going in. She blinked at him, then gestured inside again. "Please?"

"With pleasure." He didn't budge.

"Thank you."

"If you'll come with me."

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"What do you expect me to do in there alone?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, and her cheeks went pink again, and then she cleared her throat.

"Monsieur, this is business," she said in a very professional tone.

"Then I refuse the safe," he said, walking away from it.

"Well, you'd have to come with us, then. I can't trust that you won't sound the alarm the moment we all step outside, and if you do, there won't be much time for us to get away. You don't want me to go to prison, do you?" she asked, grabbing hold of his sleeve and turning him to face her.

There wasn't an ounce of fear in her, though, and he damn well respected her for it. He must be a madman.

"Just where do you think you'll be taking me?" he asked. "Ah, do you live in an evil thief lair with your fellow thieves in…Paris, or something? I'd go there happily."

"An evil thief lair… What do you do with your time all day, rich boy, sit in a movie theater watching childish fantasy movies? An evil thief lair. Honestly." She shook her head. "We'd leave you in a suburb more inland, most likely. Untouched."

"Untouched in a suburb is the last thing I want."

She choked and then gaped at him, biting down on her lip, highly amused he could tell, even as she tried to disguise it. She was failing miserably.

"No, no, Miss Lucky Seven. I'm afraid you'll just have to let me roam free here. And trust me. I'm not getting inside of that safe."

"I can't do that."

"You really _don't_ trust me."

"The woman in me wants to. The robber in me is more cynical."

She gave him more with that sentence than he thought he'd get. He took a deep, calming breath.

There was movement behind them in the doorway then and she turned her head to look. The brunette was there, looking a bit frazzled. "We're all through out there. The car is ready out back with everything packed away. We should go."

"Here." She rushed over and thrust the bag Chuck had filled into the other woman's hands. "Take this with you and wait in the car. I'll be right out. Just going to tie this last one up and I'll meet you."

"Yeah, Boss."

She was gone then and "Boss" rushed back to him. "I don't have time for this anymore, even though I…wish I did." Then she swallowed and lifted the gun again. Chuck frowned.

This was not what he'd been expecting. But why not? She was a criminal, after all.

"I need that bracelet now."

"What?"

"The bracelet, Monsieur Bartowski. Give it to me."

"I don't know what—"

"Stop." She closed the distance, the only space left between them filled with the gun she had pressed to his ribcage. "Your sister was wearing it last night and again today when we came into the store to hold it up. And when I sent her and her husband into the back room with the rest of them, she wasn't wearing it anymore. I didn't see when she took it off but I know you have it." She lowered her gaze. "Did you stash it in one of your pockets?"

"Oh, what you're seeing is my wallet, and the key to my hotel suite is in this one." He patted his left front pocket then his right.

"Then it must not be in either of those."

He was pinned against the wall then as she reached around his body and dug her hand into first one of his back pockets, and then the other. "Don't squirm so much," she grunted, and he felt her breath fanning the underside of his jaw as she looked up at him, her blue eyes swirling with the same thing he felt deep behind his belly button. "You shouldn't put obstacles in the way of a woman trying to earn her living." She finally came away with the bracelet and stepped away from him, the charms tinkling against one another as she dangled the jewelry from her gloved fingers. "It isn't sporting."

His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, for so many different reasons. "That's my mother's."

She paused for a moment, lifting an eyebrow. "Well, it's mine now."

"Please. It's the last thing I have of hers."

"You have her entire fortune. Which reminds me, I'd like your wallet as well."

"Why?"

"A memento of our time together. Or maybe I just want a picture of you I can keep with me. The man who once tried to share a safe with me." She bat her eyelashes and reached out her hand again after shoving the charm bracelet in her pocket.

Chuck frowned and pulled his wallet out. "Fine. Here."

He made a split second decision as she moved to take it from him. He dropped the wallet on the ground. "Oh, sorry…"

Rolling her eyes, she took her gaze off of him to pick up the wallet for just a split second. But it was just long enough that he was able to swipe his hand to the side, curl his fingers over the gun she had pointed at him, push the muzzle away, and twist her wrist just fast enough and hard enough that he came away with the gun.

She grabbed at her wrist, rubbing it and wincing. And as she straightened to her full height, he stayed back a few feet, getting between her and the door and pointing the gun at her. "You underestimated me."

"I did," she said quietly, eyes wide. "I underestimated you."

"Give me that bracelet back."

"I won't. You have to kill me."

"Just give it back."

"No."

"It's mine."

"Everything else I took is someone else's, too," she shrugged. "It's what I do."

He just stared at her, his insides aching. His hand shook and he forced himself to hold still. He hated guns. He hated the feel of the metal against his fingers, his palm. He hated what it was capable of.

"Well? Are you going to shoot me? I'm a thief. A con artist. You'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of the Ice Queen."

He froze at that, appropriately enough.

"Th-The Ice Queen. That's you?"

"That's me. So shoot me. You'll be hero. Go on."

She swallowed, lifting her quivering blue eyes from the gun and meeting his brown eyes solidly. He could tell she was afraid to die. He could see it, feel it. And that somehow endeared her to him all the more. He wanted her. But he couldn't have her.

And neither could Death.

Not today at least. And not by Charles Bartowski's hand.

He lowered the gun.

"No."

Her eyes widened as he held the gun out towards her, resting harmlessly in his palm. There were sirens then, far off in the distance. Far enough that it could easily be for some other emergency somewhere, and not this.

The Ice Queen took the gun from him and stuck it down the back of her skirt, he figured. "You're absolutely mad."

"You know? I think you might be right about that."

"I really like it."

"Oh? …Oh."

The sirens were a bit louder now and her eyes flicked over his shoulder for a moment, out of the door, and then back to him again. She moved in close to him and he met her gaze, pulling a slow breath in through his nose, memorizing her face.

"I'm very tempted to kiss you."

Chuck had nothing to say to that, so as she leaned in close, he just let his eyes flutter shut, his lips a little pursed.

He could feel her breath fan over his lips…

But then he felt the warmth of her body leave him and he blinked his eyes open.

"I'm just afraid you might scream," she finished, and then she brushed past him, her hand stroking his chest and his arm as she left his side.

He spun to look at her as he heard her stop in the doorway.

She blew him a kiss, sent him a wink that left nothing to the imagination, and ducked out completely.

He heard the loud slamming of the back door, the revving of an engine outside, and the screeching of tires.

She was gone.

His Ice Queen.

 _The_ Ice Queen.

He let out a long breath and sagged against the nearest wall, pressing his overheated forehead against the cool concrete. Good God, he was mad. He absolutely was mad.

* * *

 **A/N:** So anyway, I didn't realize this chapter was over 8000 words of heavy flirting during a jewel robbery until I was editing it and I am fully okay with it. A-Okay. That said, I might be...a little bad. (sips cognac) I might need...to be punished. WITH A REVIEW. PLEASE REVIEW. THANKS.

Hahahahahaha!

-SC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Okay, you're all _off the hook_. That's all I really have to say. Off the actual hook. Thank you for that. And please...keep reading, keep reviewing. It's like I'm guzzling fuel. People fuel, not car fuel, because...yeah. Anyway...

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. Nor do I own Saint-Tropez. Oh but if I did . . . the things I'd do . . .

* * *

"I've never been so humiliated in all my life!"

The Englishwoman sobbed, her husband patting her shoulder distractedly as he yawned into his other hand.

The gendarmes exchanged looks and dismissed the couple, letting them go home.

Chuck watched as they walked them out, the man asking if they were to be compensated for the missing items. "We'll do all we can, monsieur," was the only response he got before they were unceremoniously ushered out of the station.

"You're sure you can't give us more description than that?" the gendarme sitting across from Chuck asked.

He shook himself a bit. "I can't tell you more than that they were very attractive." That got him an unamused look. "I'm sorry, really. It was…distracting."

"This is what we keep hearing, monsieur. From the men. From the women, we get actual description." Chuck wasn't entirely sure this was true. But he was going to keep playing off of the assumption if it meant getting away with this. "About how tall were they?"

"Er, about…medium height."

"Medium…"

"Well, maybe a little taller? I can't be sure. I'm six foot four and they were shorter than I am." That earned him another flat look from the police officer. "They were very sure of what they were doing, very smooth."

"Ah, like they had done it before?"

The fellow hostage who owned the fake gold tie clip marched around the bench Chuck sat on and pointed in his face. "This is all a game to you, isn't it? You happened to be very accommodating with the young ladies, especially with that leader."

Chuck reared back, his eyes wide. "Accommodating? Who wouldn't be with a gun being held on them? I resent the tone you are using with me, sir." He straightened his suit and played offended for the gendarme. "This is how you're going to allow me to be treated? Son and heir of Stephen and Mary Bartowski?"

"Oh, please. Ridiculous. Don't you dare—"

"Are you insinuating I was purposely aiding and abetting a criminal?" he asked, rising to his feet and towering over the older man. "Do I have to show you my parents' Purple Hearts for you to believe my word? How _dare_ you, sir?"

The gendarme snapped his fingers and one of his colleagues swept in, taking the affronted man away from him.

"Very sorry for this behavior, Monsieur Bartowski. This is not the opinion of those of us conducting the investigation. We do not believe you or your sister or brother-in-law would ever help a criminal. You said they had guns?"

"They did, yes." Chuck smoothed his hands down his front, seemingly mollified. "Revolvers, each of them."

"Yes. Well… Anything else to report as far as missing items? Your sister said they let her keep her wedding ring, but that they took your mother's charm bracelet."

"And my wallet," he said. "Brown leather. About this big. Had a few hundred francs in it and my identification, along with a few cards. And, er, photographs. Of my parents."

The gendarme nodded his head solemnly. "Yes, we have the wallet recorded. Very sorry this has happened to you, monsieur. Thank you for staying behind after we let the rest of your family leave. We appreciate the cooperation."

"Of course. Anything to help. You'll let me know if any of it is found, or if you catch the culprits?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. Right away."

They bid their adieus and Chuck picked up his hat as he swept towards the exit. But there was a sudden tug on his arm and he stopped, turning back to the Englishman who'd tried to accuse him earlier, his eyebrows raised patiently.

"You were alone with her," the man said quietly. "For quite some time, you were alone with her."

"And what of it? She didn't trust me and put me in the washroom. Alone."

"That's a lie. You helped her."

"And for what purpose would I help a robber? Here." He held his arms out. "Search me. Not even a bit of jewelry or diamonds on me. I promise you. And for what other reason would I help a jewel thief except to obtain jewels for myself? She held a gun on me," he said with a defensive shrug.

"You don't need jewels. And you don't need money, either. But I saw the way you looked at her." He gave the younger man a disgusted look. "You let her go because you're a romantic."

Chuck gave off a belly laugh. "That's preposterous. She stole things of mine, too, or did you miss that? My sister was in tears over that bracelet. It's the last thing of my mother's that I—"

"That you own, yes, yes, I heard. Poppycock." He sniffed. "She didn't lock you up and in return for her consideration, you aren't giving the officers the truth about what happened while the rest of us were locked up in the back room."

"I don't have to listen to this," Chuck said, pulling his arm out of the other man's grip, straightening his jacket, and walking away.

But the man hurried after him and grabbed him again. "Just what was going on in that room?"

Chuck whipped around and got in the man's face, making him cower back a little.

"She was making love to me," he whispered, eyes wide. The man gasped as he grinned and strode away from him altogether, not stopping until he'd gotten out to the sidewalk. And it wasn't until he rounded the corner that he found himself laughing.

It earned him a few strange looks, some more amused than anything.

He decided to walk back to his hotel, asking his driver to head back to the hotel without him, brushing off his driver's insistence that he walk with him for safety. Guillaume was a good man and an even better driver, but he needed to be alone, and he eventually had the man relenting, taking the car back without his employer inside of it.

Chuck Bartowski had a lot to think about. And the fresh, cool air blowing in from the coastal waters was providing an incredibly relaxing setting to do it in. He'd lost his wallet and his mother's bracelet. And he supposed he should feel more bereft about it.

Of course, that bracelet was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, with its precious, rare stones, pure silver and gold in the chain. That didn't matter to him, though. What did matter was that it had been passed down from her own mother-in-law, Ruby Bartowski, and then Mary was to give it to her own son, for whomever he ended up marrying.

He had this memory of her cradling the chain in her hands as she knelt on the ground in front of him while he played with his blocks. She smiled beautifully at him, explaining each charm, and telling him he'd fall in love someday, and that his future bride would wear it. It had made him wrinkle his nose in disgust then.

But it was precious to him now.

Even so, without that bracelet, he'd still have the memory of his mother—her bravery, her innate goodness, her strength, her laugh, her voice when she sang them to sleep when they were children, how she'd roll her eyes at their father when he stuck up for them after she'd scolded them. Chuck would tell the woman he married all of that. Someday. That would be what he'd pass on. A bracelet didn't hold a candle to his memories.

And being without his wallet made him almost feel…free.

He had no identity, he thought to himself with no small amount of amusement. Nobody would know who he was, he couldn't properly prove who he was, either, if he didn't have his identification card. Of course, his passport was still in his jacket pocket, he supposed. But he was suddenly penniless as well. He had no money in his pockets. He'd had it all in his wallet. Perhaps if someone held him up by his feet and shook him upside down, a few francs might fall out of some pocket somewhere, he supposed.

No, he wasn't very bereft at all.

Instead, he was lost in thoughts of the Ice Queen. He wished he didn't have to think of her as the Ice Queen, though. He felt it didn't represent her at all well. Whatever it was that had erupted between them—an active volcano, perhaps—had thawed any amount of coldness she might've shown him.

And that was what they always said about the famed Ice Queen—that she was calculated, quick, cold, all-business. He figured there weren't any men who were in the same business she was in who were labeled an "Ice King". Only women tended to garner that sort of description. Icy, cold, frigid…

He wondered if she liked the name, if she liked the infamy that went with having her name plastered all over the presses around the world. Or if she wished she could stay in the shadows.

He had another name for her, besides Miss Lucky Seven. He thought maybe Blue Eyes. Or maybe Intelligent Mouth.

Now he was just feeling ridiculous, though.

Chuck was sure he'd never meet her again. They wouldn't catch her. Never in a million years would the men he'd seen in that police station find her. They could call detectives in from Paris, London, and Vienna, to try to find her and she'd still slip through their fingers.

She was too good, too smart. Much too slick and clever.

He marveled over that trick with the Protective Agency officer, charming him to get him to put the suitcases full of stolen jewelry in the car for her. It was ingenious. It was beyond cheeky. It showed her amazing sense of humor and perhaps even a tinge of ego. It looked good on her. He was in awe of her.

Yes, she was a criminal, but he couldn't help admire her. Maybe that old fool was right and he _was_ a romantic, even if that was the most ridiculous moment of his life to date, he thought. But what did it matter if she was a romantic as well? And she had to be, because she'd called his mouth beautiful. She'd compared his eyes to some rare mineral he'd never heard of. She'd called him handsome. She'd made a point of touching him, getting close to him, flirting shamelessly with him. And he could see the ache he felt in her eyes, in her entire face, the way she tensed when he was close.

He realized belatedly that he'd just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a dreamy smile on his face.

Whatever her name was—and God, he wanted to know her name so badly—she could steal from him again anytime she wanted to. And why should he care if she operated on the right side of the law or not, anyway? She hadn't hurt anyone. Not really. Chellequin was insured, as Dubois had said. Rich people like him could afford to lose.

"Chuck! Hey, Chuck!"

He swiveled on his heel and saw the short, bearded fellow dash across the street towards him, holding a hand out to stop a honking taxi that nearly ran him over. Chuck winced at that, and had to reach out to keep his friend from slamming right into him. "Hey," he chuckled. "You all right?"

"Chuck, I ran all the way here to meet you, both for moral support after what you've been though, and also to talk to you about what you've been through. Were you locked in a safe by robbers in a jewelry store? Muscles told me all about it and he said—he said the robber separated you from everyone else. Did you get stabbed? Shot?"

Chuck stuck his arms out to the side and turned in a slow circle. "I'm completely unharmed. Not a dent to be found."

"Oh, good. But I need to know details because _a robber locked you in a safe_."

"She didn't," he said with a shrug. "She didn't lock me up anywhere."

"Whaaat? _She_? The robber was a woman?"

"Devon didn't tell you?" Chuck asked, slinging an arm over Morgan Grimes' shoulders and continuing his leisurely stroll.

"No. He just said he wanted to lie down. And you know Ellie. She just made that disgusted sound in my general direction. Luckily, she was nice enough to tell me you weren't dead, though."

"Thank goodness for small favors.""Really. Guillaume was kind enough to at least tell me the direction you walked in so I could meet you." But then Morgan thumped him on the chest. "Hey, so…not just because I'm technically your personal assistant, but also because I'm your best friend in the whole world, tell me about this she-robber."

He chuckled. "You seem more enthralled than worried."

"Oh, you survived. And _you_ don't seem shaken up at all. Did she have a gun?"

"They all did."

"All?"

"There were three women and one man. And all three of the women looked straight out of a Vanity Fair fashion spread," Chuck breathed, "but the main one, she was the—" He stopped, then. Morgan was his best friend in the world, the one person he talked to about everything, even more than his own sister. They'd been friends since they were boys, on account of Morgan being his maid Sally's nephew. He had been something of a brother for him growing up. They'd even gone to school together at every level, including four years at Stanford. And now Morgan was his assistant. Business associates and, really, everyone else had to go through Morgan Grimes to get to Charles Bartowski.

And still, Chuck felt the need to keep the robber's identity a secret—even if it wasn't her real name. She'd told him that when it was just the two of them. It felt like he might be tattling on her if he revealed she was the Ice Queen to anyone, even Morgan.

So he cleared his throat. "Imagine Veronica Lake but with, uh, with shorter hair. And add to that the shameless, raw sexuality of…" He thought about it for a moment. Then it came to him. "Rita Hayworth in _Gilda_."

Morgan grabbed at his shoulder and gasped. "You know what _Gilda_ did to me. That damn flick nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. It should'a come with a warning for twenty year old young men like us." He fanned himself with a _phew_. "You ain't kiddin' about her, though, are ya? Is she really all those things?"

"All those things, yes…but also a criminal."

"She ice somebody?"

"What? No. Nobody was even hurt."

"Then who the hell cares? You aren't the heat, are ya? I mean it ain't _you're_ job to put her in the clinker, is it?"

The taller man chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe it's wrong but I couldn't even tell them the truth. I couldn't say anything that might help them find her. I _want_ her to get away. Far away."

"But not _that_ far, eh?" Morgan nudged him. Chuck just smirked and stuck his hands in his pockets. "You think she knows you're lying to the heat about her? That you're protecting her?"

"Probably not. But that's all right. I highly doubt I'll ever see her again. But Morgan…just those few minutes with her in that jewelry store…what a rollercoaster. That's gonna last me for the rest of my life, I think."

"You have stories you can tell everyone now. You'll kill it at parties with this." He rubbed his hands together. "And I'm gonna be your friend. I can provide commentary. And oh, the hot babes I'll get, just from being your friend. Hope ya don't mind. You know I love you for other reasons, but this'll be a definite perk."

He laughed at his friend. "Have at it, ol' pal."

}o{

She left the sounds of the crew taking inventory behind as she headed up the stairs, down the hallway, and into her own room. Rather, it was the room she'd commandeered for their stay in Saint-Tropez while they'd planned the robbery the last few weeks.

They would take care of inventory. They always did. There was an inherent trust there. She knew they wouldn't lie or stiff her.

And it meant she could escape, lock herself in her room for some peace and solitude, and finally— _finally_ —be alone.

As soon as she shut the door to her room, she turned around and rested her forehead against the cool wood, her eyes slipping shut.

She sucked in a long breath and felt her lips stretch into a smile.

It was automatically there on her face, because the moment she shut herself up behind a closed door, she let him back into her mind. She put a hand against the door beside her face, spreading her fingers out against it, then pulling them back into a fist.

A shiver went through her and she smiled harder.

Turning around again and leaning back against the door, she bit her lip and tilted her head back, blinking at the ceiling.

What had just happened?

Whatever it was that had happened last night, when she'd met his eyes across the craps table, quite by accident, and then again when she'd decided follow him after he'd left the table, this was so much worse. The ache that she'd felt leaving him behind on the dance floor last night… It was nothing compared to how difficult it was to walk out of that jewelry store without kissing him the way she wanted to.

But the temptation to tease him and leave him wanting more had been too strong. The look on his face when she walked away, the way he stood there with that dreamy look, his brown eyes blinking, had her grinning the whole way out to the car. And she'd had to quash it when Carina had thrown her a suspicious look from the backseat.

How had any of what just happened actually happened? Her brain wasn't able to make any sense of it. It couldn't process Charles Bartowski or the electricity that was in the air every time they were in the same room together.

She crossed the room to the queen bed and plopped down on the end of it, lying back with a huff and blinking up at the ceiling.

Was there any sense to it? Maybe there wasn't and that was why she was so flummoxed. Everything in her life for the past few years had been under her control, and this had just knocked her back on her heels. Right on her backside, if she were honest with herself.

The Bartowskis hadn't been part of the deal when the Ice Queen and her band of robbers had first set their sights on the Saint-Tropez Chellequin. But then Zondra had tossed a tabloid onto the table while they were enjoying morning coffee halfway into the planning stages and there they were, visiting Saint-Tropez for two weeks at the tail end of their European tour. A tour, they'd called it, like they were Tommy Dorsey and his Band, instead of rich twenty-something year old slumps with bottomless pockets, carousing and drinking and gambling as they skipped around the Mediterranean. She'd dismissed it until Jay had brought up the Bartowski parents—Mary Bartowski in particular—and their fine tastes in jewelry, gold in particular.

Finding out about the bracelet had just been happenstance.

She'd broken into the vacant suite beside the youngest Bartowski's suite and she'd hidden on the balcony to listen to their conversation, curious about who they were, what they had to offer her and her teammates. She'd only heard part of the conversation, the part about the charm bracelet, and then she'd followed them to the Mariette where they'd dined, danced, and gambled most of the night.

He wasn't supposed to see her there. At least, if he saw her, she wasn't supposed to see him back. And then she'd disappear again and he'd never know it. But what happened instead was she rolled a lucky seven and won big bucks for the whole craps table. And for a split second, she'd looked at him, their eyes had met, and she'd lost the battle…right there. Before she'd even known there was a battle.

She'd really tried so hard not to do it….She'd fought to stay at the table once he walked away from it, and instead she'd followed him. Maybe there was something about the way he kept peeking at her, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. Or maybe it was the way he'd walked away while he was still winning—a commendable amount of restraint was required and there was a small percentage of people in a place like this that were capable of it.

All she knew was that she needed more.

So she'd watched him from the table as he slowly ambled over to the bar. And then she'd cursed herself and followed. She'd snuck herself into the chair beside him, pretending she'd gotten there first.

There was no reason for Charles Bartowski, one of the richest men in the western world, to be as genuine and charming as he was. His air was completely unpracticed, and he was a little clumsy… but then out of nowhere, she'd be swept right off her feet by something he said, or his laugh and the way it made his nose wrinkle and his eyes light up. He had these moments where he was so jaw-droppingly smooth that she barely even knew how to respond.

And by the time she managed to gather herself and literally run away from him after they danced to that one song, she was caught up in a web she wasn't entirely sure he even knew he'd casted.

Without realizing what she was doing, she laid her hand on her heart and took a deep breath again, her eyes drifting shut. "What is wrong with you, Sarah?" she whispered into the silent room, letting herself focus on the rumble of voices she heard downstairs and the sound of Carina cackling at some dark but witty thing Zondra had probably said.

She didn't know what was wrong with her, she realized. But she still liked it.

She liked whatever the hell it was.

It made her feel amazing. It lit her up from the inside, and the heady feeling it gave her was positively relentless. Not just the way she felt around him, but the way she could see right there on his face, hear in his voice, how drawn he was to her.

It was like a mosquito that's drawn to a lamp, but she didn't know who was the mosquito and who was the lamp. Perhaps they took turns every few beats.

And maybe that's why this was so damn fun.

She sat up and pushed her hands through her hair, taking the stupid barrettes out of her blonde locks and dropping them on the mattress next to her. Then she reached back and unclasped the dress, unzipping it and making quick work of stepping out of it and the heels, peeling her stockings off.

It was as she haphazardly threw the dress onto the bed that she heard the faint clinking of something in the pocket, and she realized immediately what it was.

Pawing at the dress, she dug into the pocket in the pleats and pulled the charm bracelet out, and with another sigh, she sat on the end of the bed again.

She let the bracelet dangle from her fingers in front of her and she picked up each charm individually, studying it, then onto the next, et cetera. She wondered if these were all things that had meant something to Mary Bartowski. Or perhaps they'd meant something to her with her husband, both of them together, as a couple. She didn't know the history of the bracelet, because unlike a lot of things with the Bartowski family, and to a lesser extent the Powell family Mary had come from, it wasn't in the extensive research she and Zondra mostly had done as a bit of a side project while they planned the Chellequin robbery. There was a lot about the rare and precious gems the Bartowskis had once owned, but once the parents had been killed in the war, Eleanor and Charles had decided to donate the most precious and most rare of the collection to museums around the United States, and in Europe. One had gone back to South Africa, and another to Bombay.

But there'd been nothing about the charm bracelet in their research. It was worth so much money and she had it here in her hands. If she had her guy in Liverpool take the stones out, she could melt it down and make a bundle.

Then she could sell the stones and make another bundle.

And Jay, Carina, and Zondra didn't know about it. They hadn't been there to see when she'd stolen it.

But then she thought about the way Chuck had gotten the drop on her, stealing her gun, and how anybody else would have either shot her or called the police…

Not him, though.

He'd given her back the gun, and he'd let her run away. He'd let her run away with this bracelet that had obviously meant so much to him, to his sister, to his mother. His mother who was gone for ten years now.

She hadn't heard everything Eleanor and Chuck had talked about out on that balcony. But she had heard how important it was to them both. And she'd heard how hard he'd worked to convince his sister to wear it even though it technically was his.

Why his mother had bequeathed him a charm bracelet he'd never wear himself, she didn't know. And it didn't matter, really, did it? It _was_ his.

Even though she'd taken it from him tonight, it was still his.

She turned it over in her hands.

God, she liked him. She liked every little thing about him. From the top of his head down to his toes that were hidden away in those massive shoes. And that stupid straw fedora that didn't even go with his suit, the sap. She liked how he'd missed a step when they'd danced the night before and how he'd tried to cover it up by talking. She liked that he kept her on her toes, that he'd refused to go into that safe unless she went in with him, blatantly coming onto her.

He'd said she'd propositioned _him_ , but by the time she'd dashed into the front seat of her getaway car, he'd very clearly been the one who'd propositioned her.

She felt _very_ propositioned.

Crawling up the bed, she jammed her hand underneath one of the pillows and pulled his wallet out from it. She laid her head on the same pillow, curling up on her side and clutching the brown leather bifold wallet in both hands.

The first thing she'd done when they got into the house, after they carried everything in to stash it in a safe, hidden place, was she'd gone up into her room and stuffed Chuck's wallet under her pillow. She'd gone back down to help them do inventory for a few minutes, and now here she was.

She opened it slowly, pulling out a card, peeking at it, then tucking it back in its place again. He had a few credit cards, all in pristine condition, his identification card and driver's license, which was interesting. She figured he'd been driven around by chauffeurs his entire life and hadn't needed to know how to drive himself.

But why was she surprised about anything where Chuck Bartowski was concerned? Charles Irving Bartowski, as the license read. She slipped it out of its pocket in the wallet and turned the thick piece of paper over in her fingers, peering at his picture. She even caught herself stroking her thumb over his face. He looked much younger in the photo, too, his face thinner, his hair longer than it was now. She wondered how old he was in it.

He was born in the same year she was, though. Was there some strange magic about being born in the same year that had brought them together last night and again today? Did that mean she was supposed to see him again? She'd sought him out the first time, but seeing him in the Chellequin had been quite the surprise. She'd played it off well enough, she thought. But her insides had flipped when she saw him standing there against the counter with his sister and brother-in-law.

What were the odds?

She put his license back and, just out of curiosity, she looked at the money he was carrying with him. She thought how much money they carried around with them said a lot about a person. And Chuck, she discovered, was a big spender. It made sense. He had quite a bit to spend.

This also made her think he left big tips. There were a lot of smaller value coins.

She was about to shut the wallet again when she realized there was a pocket she hadn't looked in yet, and it had something in it. What, she couldn't see…so she dug her fingers inside and gingerly wrestled it out.

She sat up and set the wallet down beside her, holding the picture with both hands. It was a small photograph, just small enough to fit in the wallet.

Turning it over, she saw a faded inscription written in ink on the back: _1933, Los Angeles._

Looking at the photograph again, her heart began to beat faster. And it rose to sit at her throat. It was his family. Seven year old Chuck, his sister Eleanor who was probably four or five years older than he was, and their parents, Stephen and Mary.

They were all so happy in the photograph, Mary with both hands on Chuck's shoulders, Stephen with his hands on Eleanor's shoulders. And Eleanor and Chuck were holding hands. Everyone was smiling. There was genuine happiness there. If she remembered right, Chuck and Eleanor lost their parents two years before the war ended. In nineteen-forty-three. It had been a decade exactly since their deaths.

The robber took a shaky breath in and let it out slowly.

How many times a day did he take this picture out and look at it, she wondered? Did he need it to remember his parents after ten years? Was he afraid he'd forget what they'd looked like? Or did he keep this to remember how happy he'd been then? How carefree life was between the wars…?

He was a sweet child, not quite so tall at seven. And she found herself wondering when he'd hit his growth spurt. Had he grown gradually? Or did he shoot up in one year and shock his parents? She'd done most of her growing after sixteen. Nobody had been there to be shocked or surprised by the change in her, however. She'd barely noticed herself.

Shaking herself and blinking a few times, she found herself wishing the two adults in the photograph were still alive. For this seven year old version of Chuck's sake. For the seventeen year old Chuck who'd had to bear the brunt of the realization that his parents were gone. And for the twenty-seven year old Chuck who was here now, keeping this picture in his wallet, taking his mother's charm bracelet with him everywhere, perhaps for the same reason as the photograph. It was a part of her, a memento…

She couldn't keep these.

She wouldn't keep these.

Putting the photograph back, she climbed up to her feet and went to her suitcase, swinging it open and pulling on a pair of black pants and a black sweater, pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail of golden waves, checking her makeup one last time, and stuffing the bracelet in the small pocket of the pants. The wallet would be much harder, she knew, but she eventually reached up under her sweater and stashed the wallet inside of her bra.

Stepping into black flats that were comfortable, she hurried out of her room and down the stairs, stopping at the doorway into the kitchen where her team was still working on inventory. Zondra noticed her first, lifting an eyebrow.

"What are you doing, Boss?"

Carina turned from where she was facing with her back to her and peered at the blonde, furrowing her brow. "And dressed like that…?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way I'm dressed. It's comfortable."

"All right, Boss. But you do look like those, er, what are they called? Those lazy poets. Beat-whatevers."

She made a face at Zondra. "I don't look like a beatnik. I'm not wearing sunglasses or a beret and I'm definitely not a poet," she told them primly. "I have an errand to run."

"What errand you runnin' when we've just finished a robbery an hour ago? Think that's the smartest idea right now?" Jay asked, eyeing her carefully.

She huffed. This was her team. And yes, they were even her friends. Even Jay. And she found she might as well tell them the truth. She'd deal with the repercussions afterward.

Fishing in her pocket, she pulled the charm bracelet out. "This."

"Hollllyyyyyy mackerel! What is _that_?" Carina asked, climbing to her feet with a whistle. "I don't know just how much of that is real, but if any of it is, it's worth a lot of damn money if we play our cards right."

The leader of the thieves troupe shook her head. "We can't."

"What do you mean we can't?" the redhead asked with a shrug. "We have it. It's ours. We can do what we want with it."

"No. Because it isn't ours."

"You sayin' it's yours?" Jay asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"No. It isn't mine, either. It's…it's his. And I'm giving it back to him."

Zondra raised her eyebrows. "His? Wait. That walking, talking trust fund baby you were flirting with?"

She felt her hackles rise and her jaw clenched, her first reaction to defend Chuck. But she realized that for everything she'd seen about him, he really was a trust fund baby. All of the connotations that went with that didn't apply to him, of course, but he still was living off of his family's fortune more than anything.

"I thought he was a pretty tall drink of water. But that brother-in-law of his is even more yumyum," Carina drawled. "Can't say I blame you for wanting to—"

"Stop there," Jay said, holding up a hand. Then he turned back to his leader. "You say you're givin' that bracelet back to him? Why?"

"It was his mother's. She gave it to him. It has sentimental value and…"

" _He_ has sentimental value to you?" Carina asked, tilting her head.

She huffed, ready to deny it. But then she just shrugged instead. "I don't know. To be honest with you, he makes me feel like I'm going mad, but in a good way."

"You want to give him the primal mattress dance, that's what it is."

"Oh my God, Carina."

"Go wash your mouth out with soap."

"Yugghhhh…."

…were the three simultaneous responses of the blonde, the brunette, and the bulk, respectively.

She just shook her head and looked at her team. "I'm sorry. I know it's—I don't do this. I never give anything back but he's just…I need to this time."

"Hate to sound like a broken record but think that's safe right now?" Jay asked. "They're out there lookin' for robbers and you're sure as hell dressed like one." He took his gun out and set it on the table, starting to unload it and break it apart. That was what he did when he was nervous and didn't want people to see it, she knew.

"I'll be careful. I'm taking the other car. It'll be fine." She paused then, looking at them closely. "You're all judging me. Because this is all over a man, but he isn't just—I don't know what's happening to me. But I may never see him again and I need him to know I'm not—I don't know. I just need him to have these back. No matter how much of a criminal I am, no matter how much I love this, pulling jobs with you bozos," they all smirked at one another, "I can't do it to _him_. …He's my exception."

"And after twenty-four hours, too." Zondra smirked. "You work fast, Boss."

She didn't have anything to say to that.

She was too caught up in how…heavy this all felt. There was so much weight, so much gravity. And Zondra was right. It had been barely over twenty-four hours since she met Chuck Bartowski. She couldn't steal from him. She couldn't take something that was so important to him, his sister, his family. That little family in the photograph he kept in his wallet.

It made her chest ache to think of what was happening to her.

She was lost. She was suddenly a romantic. Maybe someone like Jay might even call her a sap.

But God, if she hadn't enjoyed it all, staring into his eyes, with the thrill of the words he used with her rocketing through her body, the look on his face when he lowered that gun and held it out for her to take back.

This was her lowering the gun. This was her holding it out for him to take back.

It took her another half hour to take their extra car back to his hotel, thanks to the roundabout way she went just in case, and she parked it around the back where the hotel staff parked.

In the pitch dark of the moonless night, it was easy to scale the side of the hotel by using the thankfully uninhabited balconies. The wallet was incredibly uncomfortable, and it was making the underwire of her bra it was stuffed inside chafe on her skin a bit, too.

But she kept climbing, higher and higher, until she arrived at the fourth floor. Just as she was about to lift herself up for a foothold on the balcony and climb over the railing to safety, she heard the latch on the balcony door and voices.

She cursed softly and clung tighter, her feet dangling below. She stayed there, not trusting she could swing herself cleanly onto the third floor balcony and not wanting to die out here, like this of all ways.

"Reginald told George that Beatrice isn't going to Monaco next winter, which is such a shame."

"Oh, really? Is there trouble at home, I wonder?"

The two women slowly walked out onto the balcony. The robber stayed where she was, wincing at the aching in her fingers. This wouldn't last much longer. She couldn't stay here forever.

"Only Beatrice and Henry would know. My, for how hot it was today, it really is cold out tonight. And me without my shawl."

"Oh, come in with me, honey. I'll let you borrow one of mine."

"Would you? That's too kind."

When the door shut and latched again, she scrambled up onto the balcony as fast as she could and dashed across it, staying in the shadows. Just yesterday, this suite had been vacant. But of course the hotel had filled it. She just took it for granted it'd be empty again.

With the grace of a cat, she climbed onto the railing and leapt across to the railing of Chuck's balcony that was outside of his bedroom.

Flattening herself against the wall, she slid a little to her left, inching towards the door, and then took a quick peek inside. The room was dark still, which meant the Bartowskis hadn't come back yet. She assumed the gendarme had taken them to the station for questioning, to report everything that was stolen from them personally, et cetera.

All the better.

She didn't want to be seen here.

That wasn't why she'd come to his suite again. She would return the bracelet and wallet to the safe and that was that. Part of her wanted to just drop it on the nearest horizontal surface inside and run in the other direction, but she couldn't do that.

It was dangerous to leave something like this out for anyone to see. She'd have to put it back in the safe. That was why he had a safe in the first place, wasn't it?

She quietly sidled up to the door and glanced over to the balcony she'd just left. Thankfully the two women hadn't come back out yet. Either they were having a hard time picking out shawls, or they'd decided it was too brisk out here for a nightcap.

Making quick work with her lock pick, she jimmied her way inside and rushed across to the safe, already pulling the flashlight out from where she'd stashed it in the waistband of her pants. Turning it on and holding it in her mouth, she got to work on the safe, twisting the combination lock this way and that, listening in the silence for the telltale clicks.

She heard the thunk of the lock and she gave the door a quick pull, opening it. She grinned around the flashlight and looked inside. There were a few stacks of American dollars inside, and she felt a thrill in her chest at seeing all of it there. God, this man really was incredibly rich.

The robber didn't touch the money, though.

That was a lie.

She did touch it. She let her fingers run over it just for a moment, but she didn't take it. She put the bracelet and the wallet inside, having to dig a bit under her sweater to get the bifold wallet out of her bra.

And when she started to close the safe's door, she heard the main door out in the suite open.

 _Damn…!_

She looked at the safe…

Would Chuck know to look inside of the safe? Probably not, she thought. Unless…

She left it cracked open. He'd absolutely notice that. If she'd learned anything about Chuck Bartowski, it was that he was an observant man. She'd felt him observing her as she'd worked earlier that day, robbing the store. Those brown eyes had followed her all over the room and it had made a delicious shiver go through her.

But she needed to hide. Quick.

She could hear voices out in the room.

"Say! They didn't leave you tied up in your underwear or anything, did they? Those crazy-pretty women who robbed you?" an excited male voice asked.

She recognized the next voice immediately.

"In my underwear?" Chuck laughed. "Uh, nothing so salacious…no. I was fully clothed. Thank you."

That made her chuckle silently and in spite of the fact that she knew she should go, run, get out of there as fast as she could and never look back again, she snuck closer to the door and peeked out through the crack towards the main door. Light flooded the room and she saw a disheveled Chuck yank his tie off and toss it and his hat on the chaise. He looked tired, but…not entirely upset. There was a freeness to the way he was moving as he took his jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair.

"Well, because I read in the newspaper the other day that a man in Paris was riding the Métro and some woman held him up at gunpoint and made him take everything off except for his undershorts. He said she was a very beautiful woman, but she took him for everything he had on him. It was late at night so nobody else was in the car with them." He whistled and took his hat off, turning it in his hands, reaching up to scratch his beard. "Hey…Chuck. What would you do if it was your enigmatic robber woman and you were on that train and she made you strip down to just your undershorts?"

She found herself incredibly interested in the heir's answer as he laughed and threw himself down on the couch, toeing his shoes off. "I'm not sure what I'd do."

 _Oh, please…_ She smirked. She knew what she'd do if the tables were turned.

"What would _you_ do?" Chuck asked, pushing his hands through his curls.

The shorter man paused, thoughtfully. And then he grinned like the cat who got the cream. "Let the train go on! At eighty-something miles per hour, I'm not sure anybody could stop either of us."

They laughed together and she found she was intrigued by the connection between these two. She wanted to watch more, be a part of this scene, reveal herself to the man Chuck had apparently told all about her—his "enigmatic robber woman".

She shivered pleasantly as she dwelled on the way Chuck's friend had called her his, and while she'd never belong to anybody, no matter how they made her body come alive, no matter what kind of fluttering sensation their laughter put inside of her chest, the thought of Chuck thinking of her as "his" robber made her feel…well, it made her feel really damn good.

"And what's Ellie have to say about all of this?" the shorter man asked.

"I, er…She doesn't know. Like the gendarmes, she thinks the robber locked me in the washroom and left me there while she cleared out the safe." He sat up a little, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Not that I lied to her. I just, er, lied to _them_. The gendarmes. She was in the room with me when I told them that, and they were finished with her and with Devon so they left, and I stayed back so that they could question me further."

"Did they grill you?" his friend asked, crossing the room to look down at him. "Do you think they suspect you lied?"

"I don't know. And to be honest with you, Morgan, I don't care."

She blinked and gaped a little. To say she was surprised was an understatement. And damn it, when would she stop being surprised by him surprising her? She should be used to this by now. God, he was so fascinating.

He'd lied to the gendarmes about her.

"Well, come now. They're going to find her if she's as beautiful as you say."

"I gave them nothing except for that. And if there weren't other witnesses who'd already told them it was three women and a man, I wouldn't have even given them _that_ much. All they know is she's beautiful. And there are plenty of beautiful women in Saint-Tropez."

"Booooooy, oh boy. You're tellin' _me_. Chuck, they're everywhere. I can't even breathe half the time when I'm out there."

The curly-haired dreamboat laughed and shook his head, his eyes shining brightly in the lamplight. "Am I crazy, Morgs? I mean, she's a criminal. She steals for a living. But you should have seen her come into that jewelry store like she owned the whole entire building. Every move she made was grace personified. God save me, you wouldn't believe it if you saw it with your own eyes…" He got to his feet, his movements quick and excited as he grabbed his friend by his shoulders.

"What, Chuck?" Bless the bearded fellow; he was just as excited as Chuck.

"She managed to get the protective officer who makes hourly checks on the shop to take the suitcases they'd filled with stolen jewelry out to their car. He put it in their car _for them_." His face softened as he blinked off to the side, a slow smile growing on his lips.

"I'm sorry, the officer did _what_? He took the stolen jewelry out and put it in their car?"

"I swear it. I'd say it was straight out of a Simon Templar caper if I hadn't seen it happen myself. She charmed him right out of the shop with their stolen goods, and he put it directly in the car for her. It was inspired!"

She couldn't help the wide beaming grin on her face as she took him in.

What kind of a man was this, anyway?

After his parents had literally sacrificed their lives to help end the Holocaust and bring Hitler's Germany down, the literal definition of acting on the side of the law, being on the good side, he was apparently enraptured by _her_ , of all people: a criminal, a robber, a jewel thief. It made no sense.

"I think you are a little crazy, Chuck. But I think after everything you've been through, you're entitled to a bit crazy—Did you hear that?" the man she now knew was named Morgan said, his body tensing.

She'd accidentally scuffed her shoe on the tile floor and it had made a soft sound.

And now he'd heard it.

 _Damn!_

She moved to the side so that they wouldn't see her in the cracks around the door, and then she slipped through the room as silently as possible and ducked out onto the balcony, just as she saw the light flooding into Chuck's bedroom from the other room, as though they'd opened the door wider to walk in.

"It was in here," she heard as she stepped out of sight and knelt down against the side railing of the balcony.

"Well, what'd you hear?"

"I don't know. Something."

"That certainly narrows it down."

"Shut up."

She slowly, carefully climbed up onto the railing then, glancing over her shoulder. The main sitting room had a balcony as well. Perhaps if she could get onto that one…

One of the men turned on the lights, illuminating the entire bedroom, and then there was a gasp. "What—Why are these doors open?" Chuck asked.

She had to move fast. He was talking about the balcony doors, the curtains billowing as the Saint-Tropez breeze made them dance. She quickly got herself up on the railing and took a deep, calming breath, and then she leapt across to the other balcony.

As she landed, her foot slipped against the stone and she pitched backwards, bracing herself for a four-story fall and the horrific impact of her body meeting the sidewalk below.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know, I know, I know, I know, I know ... I know how you feel about cliffhangers. I did one anyway. Hahahahaha! 'Til next time!

-SC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** That was a nasty cliffhanger, but I've got an update for you! Thanks for the heinous amount of reviews. You're all great. Also, just to reiterate this again real quick: This is an AU which places our faves in situations that are very different from any other AU I've ever written, so they will be reacting to things differently. This isn't canon. Hopefully, however, I'm managing to preserve the most important elements of Chuck and Sarah especially. I've made a very direct point of it. Thanks for reading.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own CHUCK. I do not own the characters. I am not making any money by writing and posting this.

* * *

Chuck hastened over to the wide open balcony doors and pushed through the curtains, stepping out into the night air and glancing to and fro. He could've sworn he'd shut and locked the doors.

He reached up to scratch his head, then walked to the railing and looked down below.

"I don't understand," he called back to Morgan. His personal assistant stopped at the doors and frowned. "I swear, I shut and locked it earlier when I was meeting Ellie and Devon for brunch."

"Maybe you didn't." Morgan shrugged.

"I did. Of _course_ I did."

"Yeah, but you could've thought to yourself, 'Who would be able to get into my bedroom on the fourth story of the hotel?'"

Chuck frowned. "But I _didn't_ think that to myself. And I shut and locked these doors."

"Devon and Ellie—?"

"—don't have the key to my hotel suite," Chuck interrupted, pushing a hand through his hair. He walked back into the room, brushing past Morgan, and that was when something caught his eye over in the opposite corner of the room.

"Well, then I have no idea how—"

"No!" Chuck barked, his hands on his head as he stared at the safe on the wall, the way it was wedged open…definitely not how he'd left _that_.

"What?" Morgan asked, twisting his fist in Chuck's sleeve, obviously alarmed by his friend's tone.

"No, no, no," he breathed. But he already knew. "Please tell me she didn't—She couldn't—She wouldn't." But she had. He just _knew_ she had.

"Who wouldn't what? What are you talking about?"

"The safe. My safe. It's open. It's been opened. And I haven't gone into that since yesterday, when I took my mother's charm bracelet out for Ellie to wear to dinner last night. It was shut. I shut it and I covered it up. But she found it and she broke into it."

He hadn't been bereft before, when the Ice Queen stole his mother's bracelet from him, and his wallet. But he was now.

Apparently, the bracelet and wallet weren't enough. She had to take everything he'd kept in his safe, too.

Chuck Bartowski felt utterly betrayed suddenly, like he'd had the rug pulled out from under him. And he felt like such a damn fool. The biggest fool there ever was.

"I'm such a sap. I'm a complete idiot," he breathed, pushing his hands through his hair.

"Was it _her_?" Morgan seemed to catch on. "You think she broke into your personal safe? _How_? Did you go nuts enough to give her the combination?"

And there was the anger. It swept over him and crashed down like an unseen wave. "What the hell do you think, I just go around giving away the combination to my safe any time a girl bats her eyelashes at me?" he snapped. "I can't believe she would stoop this low!"

"Uh…we're still talking about the same robber, aren't we? The woman who robbed a jewelry store a few hours ago?"

Morgan had a point, Chuck supposed, but he thought she was above this. He thought they had a better connection than that, that she respected him enough to at least stay out of his suite, out of his private safe.

He crossed the room finally and put his hand on the safe, not opening it just yet. He didn't want to open it and see it empty. It would change everything. And he didn't want it to.

"Well?" Morgan prompted.

Chuck huffed and opened the safe.

And then he just gaped. "…Morgan."

"What? She took it all, didn't she? This is what you get for trusting a criminal, even if she is a cross between Veronica Lake and Gilda. Actually, _especially_ if she's—"

"No. Morgan."

Not only was the money still there, his mother's charm bracelet and his wallet were sitting in the safe, right in the front, dead center. His heart raced as he reached in and pulled the bracelet out.

"Wait. Is that—?"

"It's my mom's bracelet. She broke in to give it back to me. And my wallet." He grabbed the wallet and showed it to him, then put it back distractedly, still staring at the bracelet.

She'd seemed so unmoved by his pleading at the jewelry store, how she'd pinned him to the wall so that she could take it out of his pocket. Her eyes had flashed dangerously as she'd taken it. There'd been mischief in her features, but then he'd also seen just how serious she was. This was her career—stealing things.

And yet, she'd brought this back to him, something that could've gotten her and her colleagues a lot of money, probably more than what they'd stolen from the Chellequin.

Here it was, though, back in his hand.

"I'm…confused," Morgan said.

Chuck just shook his head and glanced over his shoulder at him. "She's wonderful."

His friend just stared at him with his brow furrowed for a while, and then he shook his head and smirked. "Brother, you are sunk."

"Morgan, she's a thief! She robs jewelry stores. She steals from people. This would've brought in a good amount of money for them. And for some reason, she brought it back."

"For some reason…" The bearded fellow snorted. "You know the reason."

"She's wonderful. That's the reason," Chuck murmured, distractedly pushing the door to the safe shut again and clutching the bracelet tightly.

"She has it bad for you." Morgan closed the distance and took the bracelet from Chuck, letting it dangle from his fingers. "Chuck, she chose you over this. That's what's happening here. She had the chance to escape with an extra few hundred thousand American dollars in this here bracelet, and she left it behind. Why?" He threw his arms out wide, dramatically. "For you!"

Chuck shook his head with a laugh, reaching out to snatch the bracelet back and cradle it in his hands again. "No, Morgan. She's just…"

But he didn't know how to finish that thought. Because he didn't know why she'd done it. He didn't altogether understand what she was doing, except that he knew she was better than the Ice Queen misnomer. Criminal or not, she was incredible.

And he found his heart was racing at the thought of her tiptoeing through his bedroom, breaking into his safe, and slipping his belongings inside. She probably thought they'd be safer there than out in the open. She was a thoughtful robber. The most thoughtful robber he'd ever heard of—and certainly the most beautiful. And graceful, elegant, brilliant…most of all, brilliant.

She was brave, too, coming back here just to return the bracelet and his wallet to him. What made her do it? What made her change her mind and take this kind of a risk?

He walked into the other room, hearing Morgan on his heels.

"You're just being your usual self, Chuck. You think you're not charming, but you are." Chuck sent him a flat look over his shoulder. "You always have been. It's why we get along so well. We're both such magnificent charmers."

"All right," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I think you've made your point."

"You've romanced a robber, Chuck. I don't know if I should be afraid of you or not."

"Well, I'm not romancing _you_ any time soon, Morgan, so I think you'll be just fine," he snarked at his friend, setting the bracelet down on the desk pressed up behind the couch. "What do I do with this, though?"

"Did you tell the gendarme about the bracelet being stolen?""Yes. I had to. Ellie had already reported it to them. If I didn't report it, either I'd look like a liar, or Ellie would." He pushed his hands through his hair. "What do I do now?"

"Report it to the gendarme."

"I can't do that!" He spun on his heel and thrust a hand out in front of him. "I tell them I have it after all, they'll suspect I was lying. Or I'll have to tell them she came back to give it to me. They'll figure I…I don't know…"

"That you let her get away."

"Exactly! I'll be arrested."

Morgan stroked his beard. "They wouldn't arrest you. It'd be an international scandal. It would start a war between the United States and France!"

"That's probably an exaggeration."

"No! It isn't! But wait, wait…let's get our heads on straight, here. We'll figure this out. The most important thing is that I'm with you in this no matter what. We'll escape to New Zealand. We can send your enigmatic robber woman a postcard from Dunedin and she and her friends can meet us there."

Chuck ignored the cheeky grin, rolling his eyes and pushing a hand through his hair as he stared thoughtfully at the bracelet. "I can't let them know I have the bracelet again. Maybe I should hide it. Not in the safe, but-but somewhere else."

"Don't do under the mattress. Everyone hides things under the mattress." Chuck just gave him a flat look. "All right, listen. We'll figure something out. I'll make some phone calls, but I think perhaps it's best we ditch this Saint-Tropez jaunt of ours and either go back home or…somewhere else. Far away."

His tall friend wasn't listening, though, staring at the bracelet again, wondering why the robber had given it back. And breaking into the safe without taking anything? Was she teasing him again? Was it some sort of inside joke between them? Impressing him by being able to find the safe to break into it, and then surprising him by not taking anything and instead giving him the bracelet and wallet back? A fire was lit inside of him, but then he also felt almost…unsafe, here. She knew where he lived, she'd managed to find a way to get inside, through a locked door, into a locked safe.

She could get to him and anything he owned, if only she wanted to.

It almost felt like a warning in a way. A reminder.

And she _was_ a criminal. He didn't know if she was capable of violence. Just because she hadn't used violence today, didn't mean she hadn't done it before, that she wouldn't do it if she had to. She was a genius, but perhaps even genius con artists and thieves had to resort to hurting people, even killing people, every so often.

"Morgan, maybe…maybe don't leave…" he said, turning to watch his friend walk to the door.

"What? Why? I have to make some calls, see if we can't get home tomorrow. Perhaps I can book the four of us on a plane to Guam. Guam's nice this time of year."

"No, I mean…I mean, don't leave me here alone. Ellie and Devon are probably asleep and if-if she…"

"She's a world-class robber, Chuck. She'd never come back here again. It's too much of a risk. My expert opinion is that she's long gone. Long, long gone. She's too smart to stay behind for some…rich heir she had a momentary flirtation with." He waved his hand dismissively as he opened the door to the hallway.

"Morgan, two minutes ago you said she sacrificed hundreds of thousand dollars for me, and now it's a momentary flirtation?" he asked, thrusting his hands out.

"Get some sleep, ol' man!"

"What? You kiddin' me? I won't be able to shut my eyes all night! Morgan, don't—"

"I'll keep you updated!"

He sprinted out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him nearly catching the tail of his suit jacket. He came back in just as quickly and grabbed his hat from the entry table. "Forgot my hat! Lock the doors!"

He was gone again.

Chuck had seen the panic in his face. What he said about the robber breaking in and possibly coming back had gotten to Morgan. It had spooked him. The romance of the situation was all well and good, exciting even, until there was a chance the scary bad criminal might make a reappearance while he was still here.

"The little coward," he grumbled to himself, under his breath, sticking his hands in his pockets.

He turned to glance over his shoulder and found that the doors leading out to the balcony in _this_ room were open now. He didn't remember opening them, but…Well, maybe Morgan had opened them or something.

Sure, he thought to himself as he hastened over to shut and lock them again, Morgan had opened them. The place had been a bit stuffy from being closed up all day, so his assistant had opened the doors to let the fresh beach air in.

In spite of his best friend being a cowardly little jerk sometimes, he was loyal and thoughtful.

His foot crunched on something then and he frowned, lifting it up and spotting some crushed peonies. There were peonies out on the balcony. He knew this because Ellie had commented on how beautiful the peonies were, and how fresh they were, and…what were they doing in his suite?

Suddenly he heard a soft crackling coming from inside of his room, followed by music—a slow samba.

Chuck froze, still hunched over, his eyes wide. He went cold then as he felt her before he even saw her. And as he looked up, she was standing there in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching him silently with her arms crossed.

"I thought he'd _never_ leave."

}o{

Chuck gaped.

"Y-You—You—"

"Yes, me." She smiled and he felt numb, still crouched awkwardly. "What are you doing down there?"

"I-I…Flowers." He straightened up and shook his head, pointing at her. "What are you doing here? How'd you get here?"

"A surprisingly sturdy drainpipe, considering how old this hotel is."

"You scaled the building on a drainpipe?!" He felt the blood leave his face.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "A combination of drainpipe and balconies, really."

"That's so illegal!"

"So is robbing a jewelry store, and yet…"

He hated that he had to give her that one.

"Were you…hiding in my room this whole time?" he asked then, realization coming over him. That would be bad, very bad. If she'd been there the entire time.

"No." She shrugged.

"Oh." He sagged in relief. He'd said things to Morgan she definitely didn't need to hear. More importantly, he didn't want her hearing what _Morgan_ had said to him.

"I was on the balconies actually. And don't worry, I only heard _most_ of your conversation with your bearded friend." Chuck shut his eyes tightly and buried his face in his hands. He could die. Literally, he thought to himself. Because a potentially dangerous woman had broken into his suite and he was all alone with her. She wouldn't harm him, really, though, would she? Could she?

"At least, the part of it that happened when I wasn't switching balconies and nearly fell and broke my neck. Just barely caught myself." He snapped his head up with wide eyes and he watched as she winced and rubbed her arms just under her armpits. "That's definitely going to bruise."

"Switching…? Don't _do that_! That's a six or seven foot jump! Are you mad? You could easily fall and die!" he hissed, moving a few steps closer. The thought of her doing things like that made a chill go through him.

"Are you…worried about me?"

What could he really say to that? So he stayed silent instead.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked after a few moments of meeting her gaze.

She looked so good in black. The black sweater that bunched up at her hips and wrists, the black pants and flats, her hair pulled back behind her head in a ponytail that was messy, tendrils poking out around her ears. The tail of her blond hair did a cute flip thing at the end that made him feel warmth rush through his body.

"Did you not want to see me?"

He just bit his lip, an ache going through him. He felt a bit panicked at seeing her here now. Nobody else was here. If he yelled for help, the walls were thick and it was the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep. Who would be able to hear him? She was tall, albeit not as tall as he was, and he could see the definition in her shoulders, arms, and legs, in spite of the long sleeves and pants she wore. She could take him out if she wanted to, he knew. If she couldn't overpower him physically, she'd find a way to do it through mental prowess, she was so damn clever and intelligent. She'd called him wily earlier tonight, but she was the wily one.

She could take the chair right out from under someone and they wouldn't even know it until they looked down and realized they were suddenly sitting on the ground. And by then, she'd be long gone.

It was so attractive.

He was so drawn to her.

He was absolutely mad.

He didn't care.

But then she pushed away from the doorframe and took a step closer to him, and he felt that panic, a tinge of fear. What was she doing here? What did she mean to do to him?

The mischief that had been in her face before was gone. And instead, she fixed him with a long, serious look. "You lied to the gendarme." He didn't respond and she reached up to tuck a blond tendril behind her ear. "About me." He still didn't say anything. "Why?" she finally asked.

"They, um…" He cleared his throat, pulling his shoulders back. "Well, they were talking to me as though they didn't know who I am. Chuck Bartowski, son of war heroes Stephen and Mary Bartowski, and heir to their fortune. Didn't feel like they deserved the truth, what with the tone they were taking."

She twisted her lips to the side in amusement and put her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrows. "That isn't why."

"You know why."

His answer was immediate, his voice deep, a bit raspy. And he couldn't get his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

She dropped her arms to her sides and swallowed, licking her lips. "Maybe. But I don't understand it."

"Neither do I. But it's still here, isn't it? And I can't stop thinking about it. About you." In spite of the nerves, being here alone like this with her. Did she have some kind of weapon hidden on her person? Knives under her sleeves? A gun tucked in the waistband of her pants at her lower back?

"You shouldn't be thinking about me."

"I know that. But it's not that easy."

"Tell me about it."

Oh, boy. He was in trouble. They were both in deep trouble.

"You _lied_ to them," she repeated. "After I stole something that was incredibly important to you. You did whatever you could to keep them from getting information that would help them catch me. I'm just…I'm genuinely confused. Can you blame me?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't blame you for being confused. I'm a little confused myself. _Very_ confused. But not so much about that. It's mostly just…this. All of it."

"Because I'm a criminal…"

"Because I've never met anyone before who's made me literally feel like I'm standing in the middle of a fire pit, and being in that safe with you felt like that…flames licking at my feet, up my legs, my torso, down my arms, to my head, engulfing me. It's breathtaking. And I don't know what to do about it." He pushed a hand through his hair, to do something with it, _touch_ something, because he so badly wanted to reach out and touch _her_ and he knew he couldn't do that. If he did, they might _both_ catch fire.

"Oh," she breathed, her chest heaving. She ran her hands down her sides and cleared her throat, looking into his eyes. "Is…that why?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe it's multiple things. Maybe I'm crazy."

"Maybe we both are. You know it's not exactly smart, me popping back in for a chat, considering I'm wanted by the Saint-Tropez gendarme at the moment. And they're most likely going to be keeping an eye on you and your hotel after the stunt you pulled at the station." She raised her eyebrows.

"Stunt? I didn't—"

"I'm sure they're suspicious if you didn't give them any details about my appearance. Except that I'm pretty."

"I said beautiful," he corrected. And he gave her a slow smile. She seemed more pleased by that than she wanted him to see, and she cast her eyes to the side. "And anyway, I gave every appearance of being a cooperative witness."

When she moved in even closer, he felt that panic again. And she must have seen it in his face because she pulled her head back a little and looked him right in the eye. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Can you blame me?" he asked, shivering. He wasn't sure this time if the shiver was from fear or if it was from her being so close. The flames were licking at his toes again, and he thought maybe it was a little of both.

Her smile was slight. "No. No, I suppose I don't. Me being the Ice Queen and all."

"Are you armed right now?" he asked, gulping.

"I'm always armed," she answered with an arched eyebrow.

"How did that just make you so much more attractive to me? I don't understand what's wrong with me."

She bit her lip, seemingly amused. "Careful. You're starting to sound as though you want me against your better judgment."

The way she'd phrased that—God, she'd put it so plainly, so…bluntly. But he did want her. He wanted her ardently. He knew she was teasing him, at least somewhat, but he didn't have it in him to tease back. That damn fire was licking at him and it was unrelenting.

"I do," he breathed, and it sounded so desperate to his ears that he shut his eyes and willed himself to try to have at least some sense of self-preservation. "I consider myself to be an upstanding citizen, on the right side of the law, and you…"

"I steal things," she chirped, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. He could see right through the mask she was attempting to put up. That mischievous, teasing brightness she carried around with her… He could see behind it, under it, and it was making those flames burn hotter.

"But you risked everything to bring mine back. I lied to the gendarme for you—you could say I perjured myself. And you brought back that bracelet when you could've gotten a pretty penny for it, perhaps on the black market."

"Could I?" She made a thoughtful face. "Thank you for telling me. I think I'd like it back, actually—" But she stopped when he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her forearm, holding her tightly but gently at the same time. All she had to do to break his hold was step away from him, but still he held her steadily. "I meant what I said…about your parents. They were heroes. I may have made a career out of crime, but I'm still an American, and that war…" She swallowed thickly. "It was easy to pick a side in that war, even as a kid on the streets. Genocide isn't something I can get behind. And your parents were _heroes_ for trying to put a stop to it. They paid the price. You and your sister did, too. That bracelet belonged to your mother and it belongs to you now and I-I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"Was that really the reason?" he asked, his throat dry. He tucked his thumb under the sleeve of her sweater and stroked her wrist tenderly.

He felt how charge the air was between them as she blinked up at him.

"I couldn't take it from you…Chuck. You're right. We're in trouble. Both of us." He watched her as she gently took her arm out of his grip, pushed her hands through her hair, and let out a long breath, gathering her thoughts. "I was so sure I wasn't going to see you again and I didn't want to leave with you thinking I was…I don't know, less than human."

"So that's what it was," he said, a slow grin stretching over his lips. He ducked his head a little to catch her eye. "You didn't want me to hate you."

"Don't look at me like that. You make it sound so…simple. And it isn't simple."

"No, of course not. Like everything in my life, it's complicated. It's all right, I'm used to it," he said with a crooked smile. "I surround myself with complicated people, so what's one more?"

"Stop it. I'm serious."

"I know," he said softly, stepping in a bit closer, their chests almost touching. He found he wasn't as afraid as he'd been at first. Even if she was armed. Her admission just made him almost certain she wouldn't be using it on him. At least not tonight. "For the record, I told the gendarme you locked me in the washroom away from everyone else to keep me from causing trouble, and I did that because it meant I'd have to answer less questions. And the questions they _did_ ask? Well, for the most part, I lied. And I promise you, I wouldn't have done all of that if I'd seen you as less than human."

She blinked slowly, her face unchanged. He couldn't read her suddenly.

"I've done things. I won't say I'm proud of them, per se, because I'm not. But I'm also not ashamed. I'm not ashamed of who I am or what I do."

"Who are you?" he asked.

She smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes," he answered passionately. "I think I'd sell my soul for the privilege of getting to know you at this point. I have no idea what to call you and I refuse to call you Ice Queen."

A curious look came over her face then. "Why not? That's what everyone calls me."

"I'm not everyone. I'm the guy that got you to bring back a stolen thing."

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Please, don't let it go to your head or anything," she said with no small amount of sarcasm. But she was amused, he could see. Quietly amused.

"Because while you definitely have all the elegance, grace, majesty, and raw power," he said that last bit with something of a growl through his teeth, making her eyelids flutter, "befitting a queen, I've not gotten the whole 'ice' thing from you."

"Oh?" she asked, tilting her chin up and meeting his gaze. Her eyes were something else. "What _do_ you get from me?"

He reached up and let his fingertips touch her jaw, oh so gently stroking up to her ear. He let himself feel how soft her skin was as he tucked some of her hair behind her ear, away from her face as he answered her question. "Heat. Raging heat. An absolute inferno. All the way to your eyes that are as blue as the hottest flames."

"Oh," she breathed out. And then she melted towards him. "God save me."

They both moved together at the same time, and she grabbed his face and pulled him in to kiss him hard.

Chuck immediately rounded her torso with his arms and kissed her back. He twisted a fist in the sweater at her upper back and pulled her tight to his front, letting out a soft, wanton whimper as she opened her mouth.

He wanted more. He needed more. He was burning from the inside out and he just had to have so much more, enough that he started stepping towards her, as if they weren't as close as they could physically be. She took a few steps back as he moved forward. And they kept going until her back met with the wall…hard.

She let out a soft squeak, their lips breaking apart. And he panted out a ragged, "God save us both."

He heard her breathless chuckle and then a delicious, "Mmmm" as he dove in to kiss her again.

Chuck dug his hand into her hair at the back of her head, feeling that soft, wavy ponytail against his fingers, and it made him almost dizzy. And when she teased him with her tongue, he groaned, smacking his hand against the wall beside her head with a dull, satisfying _thump_.

When he felt her fingers drop from his face to his belt, tugging desperately at the leather, Chuck broke the kiss with a gasp, looking down between their bodies. Oh no, he was drowning in trouble. He was drowning in it and he didn't want to come up for air. He didn't need air. What did people need air for anyway?

"I think he's forsaken me," she murmured, her voice shaking.

Who? Who in their right mind would ever forsake this woman? Oh, that's right. She was talking about God.

"Let 'im," he growled with a mischievous grin, and he hunched over to attack her jaw with his lips. She threw her head back and laughed, getting his belt undone and grabbing at his button up, yanking on it to get it out of his pants. He dragged his lips to her neck and began nibbling, earning a sigh and a giggle.

"I'm not a good girl," she gasped out, her fingers tangling in his curly hair.

He slipped his hands under her sweater and gripped her bare midriff, making her whimper. That fire raged to dangerous levels now. "I'm not exactly a good _boy_ …"

She laughed again. "You're making quite the case for yourself in that respect…But you're not exactly a criminal."

He pulled his lips away from her neck and peered down at her. "I'll give you that point. But I argue I'm still not entirely _good_."

She grabbed him by his shirt then and guided him back towards the door that led into the bedroom. "If I can…find my way into that bedroom…I'd like you to prove it."

He didn't know what it was, but something forced his head to clear, just enough that he stepped back from her and let out a harsh breath. He might be bad, but not bad enough for this _very_ bad idea.

Scrambling around her, dodging her hands grappling for a hold on him, he grabbed the door to the bedroom and swung it shut, turning the key that was in it and pulling it out, slipping it in his back pocket. "I can't. I shouldn't. I mustn't."

All she had to do was put a hand on his chest and he let out an aching whine of desperation, before he pounced at her and began kissing her again, pinning her to the door he'd just locked. She chuckled into the kiss, and pulled back just enough so that their lips were brushing while she panted, "You saw how well sticking something I want in that pocket went for you last time, rich boy…"

He caught her top lip between his teeth and she gasped, her eyes flashing dangerously. He kissed her properly, then broke it and grinned. "I'm not going to be so easy this time."

"Is that why you're kissing me to within an inch of my life?"

"No. I'm quite in control."

He wasn't. He wasn't at all.

"Even if I don't get the key, I'm the best lock picker in the world."

He gave her a dubious look. "Mmmhm, I'm sure you are. But where are you keeping your tools?"

"If you take me into that bedroom, you'll find out."

Chuck felt his entire body tense at that. "W-We…It's madness…This is pure madness."

"Oh, come now. I climbed four stories up the outside of a building instead of using the front door and the elevator, primarily with the idea that I might preserve your reputation."

He snorted. "My reputation. Have you _read_ any of the tabloids about me?"

She hummed, a teasing look on her face. "I haven't but I can guess based on the fact that an inexperienced person doesn't kiss another person the way you just kissed me. None of those women would happen to be infamous jewel robbers, though, hm?"

Narrowing his eyes and shaking his head, he leaned in to kiss her again. "Mmm'no," he mumbled against her lips. When he felt her hand sneak from its place on his back down closer to his pocket, he reached back and grabbed her wrist, quickly pinning it to the door up by her head. "Naughty."

"That's my middle name." She narrowed her eyes back and pecked him on the lips.

But he stepped back again, holding his hands up defensively, letting out a slow, calming breath. Her lips were a little red, her hair disheveled and falling out of the ponytail, her eyes lit with the fire he was feeling. She was everything. She was more than everything.

She was dangerous.

More than dangerous.

"I'm no novice, you aristocrat," she said, standing up straight and fixing her hair daintily. "I don't need a bed. Which means I don't need a bedroom." She smirked.

His jaw fell open and he heard himself make a gravelly, aching sound from deep in his chest. He took a few steps back, away from her, bumping into a small beverage cupboard. He looked down at it.

"Cognac?!" he asked, much too loud, his voice much too high-pitched.

She let out a deep, slow giggle. "You _are_ cute. And why not? Thank you."

The robber took a few steps towards him and he held up a hand, rushing around to the other side of the cupboard and slipping it open to take the cognac out. "No, no. Stay back. I need…some distance. Please. You're…like getting struck by lightning. I get anywhere near you and I feel the electricity."

"I know. Isn't it exciting? I've never felt this before. Not with anyone." But he was glad to see that while she did come closer, she kept a respectable enough distance. God, he wanted to touch her again, feel her lips against his. Instead, he poured their cognac with quaking hands, just barely managing not to spill.

She took one of the small cylindrical classes with a grateful look as he kept one clutched between his fingers. They clinked glasses and she sent him a small smile, taking a sip. "Oh, that's delicious," she hummed, her eyes shutting.

"Sinful, really."

"Is it?"

The way she asked that, her tone, the mischief in her features…

"Stop it," he admonished.

And then he watched her over his cognac as she crossed her arms, not knowing he was staring, and in that moment, she looked young, very young. And thoughtful. Totally unlike the woman he'd seen standing in that shop hours earlier with a gun in her hand. But even so, he knew the threat wasn't gone. He knew she was still dangerous. But it wasn't intimidating for some reason. Not to him.

"You know," he started, and her eyes swept up to meet his, "as grateful as I am to you for bringing that bracelet back to me, and the wallet," he added as an afterthought, "you know you have to take it back with you."

She frowned. "I do not. And I will not."

"You have to," he said. "I need you to. If the gendarme find out that I have it again, after I reported it stolen, they're going to connect the dots and realize I've been in contact with you. Or, at the very least, they'll know you have some sort of…feelings for me. And locking a guy in a washroom for ten minutes while you empty a safe isn't exactly how you form any kind of attachment. They'll suspect I was lying. All of this will unravel. I could be arrested."

"Well, I don't want you arrested. But I'm not taking that bracelet back. It's yours. And I worked so hard to bring it back." She bit her bottom lip and let her eyes slowly drag down his lithe form. "It was worth it, in hindsight."

"You have to take it back."

"I can't."

"You can. You just won't."

She paused thoughtfully. "All right. I can. I just won't."

"Why?"

"I'm not in the habit of taking back gifts."

He boggled at her. "You _stole_ it from me. How's it a gift in any way?"

"The gift is in the way I gave it back to you _after_ stealing it. Keep up, rich boy."

He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please?"

"No. If you don't want it, give it to the police."

"That's exactly what I _can't_ do, and you know why!"

Chuck finished his cognac and slammed the glass down on the nearby table. He just happened to spot the bracelet still sitting there, glinting in the lamplight stunningly. He grabbed it and made his way towards the robber as she was distracted, downing the rest of her own drink.

He got one arm around her, causing her to squeak in surprise, and he reached down to slip the bracelet in her pocket. "You're taking it back," he ground out through a clenched jaw, struggling against her.

But she got her hand on his chest and pushed back enough that he couldn't get his fingers near her pocket. "I'm not taking it!"

"Take it!"

They wrestled for control and she was even stronger than he'd feared, even with the small glass clutched in one fist. She was so strong that he felt himself bent over the back of the couch. "Let go of that bracelet," she warned through her teeth.

"I won't. It's yours now. Melt it down. Take it apart. Sell it whole. I don't care, but I don't… _want it_!" With those last words, he pushed himself up and used his leverage against the back of the couch to flip them both over onto the cushions.

He ended up pinned beneath her, and she pushed her torso up just enough, her bottom half heavy against his, legs trapped tight between his thighs. "This really isn't how I saw this happening," she panted.

He felt desire stir behind his belly button and he pushed against her, calling out in surprise as they both rolled off of the couch onto the floor.

He landed on the bottom and hit his head on the tile with a painful crack. "Ah! Ow…ow…"

She hissed, the fight immediately gone as she slipped one hand under his head and pressed her fingers to the spot where he could already feel a knot forming. "Are you all right?"

"That wasn't pleasant," he groaned, wincing.

She bit her lip, genuine remorse on her face as she gently rubbed the knot he'd just gotten, pulling her fingers away. "It didn't break the skin. No blood. But you're gonna have quite a bump. I'm sorry…"

Chuck just shook his head. "I'll live. But if you're really sorry, you'll take my mother's charm bracelet. Maybe…maybe instead of selling it, you can wear it." He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and smiled a bit dreamily, loving the way she felt, draped all over him, trying to memorize the sensation. "Not in public, of course. But maybe at night, when you're trying to fall asleep. And you can think of me…"

She let out a quiet giggle. "You're relentless. I like that about you." And then she leaned down to kiss him again. It was too much, though. With her on top of him, their bodies lined up so perfectly, so he pulled his head back quickly. _Too_ quickly. And he hit it again, right in that same spot. "Oh, come o—Really?"

"Are you hurt?" she rushed out, slipping her hand under his head. "…Again? You really need to stop doing that, be a little more careful."

" _You_ be careful."

She just smirked, her eyes shining bright. "Now let's try this again…" She leaned down to try to kiss him one more time.

"I don't know what to do," he rushed out in a quick breath. "Why did you come out from your hiding place? Why'd you have to let me see you again? You could've just snuck out and I would never have seen you again." He felt pitiful, saying that. But God, she'd made everything so complicated now. So difficult.

"Is that what you wanted? To never see me again?"

"God, no. Every last fibre of my being wanted to see you again."

"I know the feeling," she murmured, her thumb stroking along his cheekbone in the best way.

"Why?" he asked again. "Why did you come out here when Morgan left? Instead of sneaking back out of my suite, running away, the way you _know_ you should've?"

She bit her lip, her blue eyes dimming, but not dulling. They just became…softer.

"Chuck…Charles Irving Bartowski." He rolled his eyes and she let out a one-note giggle that was so cute he thought he'd burst. And then she sobered up significantly, her beautiful features still draped in softness. "One of those regular aristocrats or middle class men's daughters looking specifically for a man like you, a regular girl, with a regular life and a regular job, might say it was because she loved you. I'm no regular girl, so I can't say that." She paused, her fingers hovering over his face, and then pure adoration was there. He saw it in her eyes, her brow, her lips. Her fingertips traced his eyebrow, down his temple, and they rested on his lips. "But I do."

His jaw went slack and he gawked up at her, the throbbing in his head totally forgotten. "I can't believe that."

"Why not?"

"Because…" He licked his lips and swallowed. "How old are you?"

She blinked, obviously not expecting that. And then she pressed her lips together. "Eleven."

"Huh?" Chuck furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Oh. Sorry. Eleven is how many years I've really been living. The rest don't count."

He gave her a bit of a stink eye. "And your conscience?"

"Beautifully clear."

"And what about your past?"

A dark look came over her face, but she blinked it away, smirking at him and snuggling further into his warmth. He couldn't help but drape an arm over her lower back, in reassurance or…comfort perhaps. He didn't know if it had the wanted effect. "Not quite as fortunate as I would've wanted it to be…admittedly."

"Your future?" he muttered quietly.

"Doesn't exist," she said with a charming smile. "I live only for the present. And the present…is you."

The double meaning wasn't lost on him and he gasped, playing scandalized. "I beg your pardon!"

"There's no one here, Chuck. Everyone else is asleep. All of the doors are locked. The only person who can get in is already in," she said with quite the self-satisfied little smile, if he did say so himself, "and we have an entire night before us. And if only you ask me, Chuck Bartowski…at dawn, we might have this one shared secret behind us."

He squeezed her hip with the hand he had draped over her. "I wish. If I wasn't afraid, I'd say have your way with me, enigmatic robber woman."

She looked like she might laugh, but then his words must have dawned on her, and he saw a flicker of something he hadn't seen in her eyes before. Had he just hurt her? God no, that wasn't what he wanted to do. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You're still afraid of me?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"No. No, no." He reached up with his other hand to cup her face. "Not of you. I mean, I still don't know where you're keeping that weapon you said you're armed with, which is a little terrifying," she got that brightness back in her eyes at that, "but I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid of…everything else. What might happen if the gendarme find us. If they find the bracelet. If they knew about this. Us."

"There's an us?"

"Were you _here_ for the last…I don't know…I lost track of time and literally everything else when you were kissing me."

She beamed and his whole chest felt full, let alone his heart. "You're so cute."

"Ah." He grinned. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I get to stay here until morning."

Chuck blinked. "What? Excuse me? Did I miss something?"

"No. No, I don't think so."

He waited, but she didn't elaborate. So he cleared his throat, very gently peeling her from her spot on top of him and slowly sitting up with her help. "You aren't staying here tonight. Do you really expect me to sleep with you anywhere near me? I'd be able to feel you even with a locked door between us."

"That's sweet. But I'm afraid you're going to have to make do." She wrinkled her nose.

"No, I think you'll have to…get going. To your hideout. Wherever that may be. Don't tell me, plausible deniability and all that."

"I don't think you understand. The gendarme…they're all out in the streets, looking for me. The last place they'll expect to find me is in your bedroom. It's the only safe place."

"I think Mayor Le Sommer's chateau might be even safer. Why don't you go _there_ instead?"

"The mayor of Saint-Tropez won't be nearly as accommodating as you are. And I really do need as much rest as possible. The chase begins again tomorrow." She shrugged. "And my people have already taken the stash and moved on to another hiding place. We've split up. And we've split the loot, too, until it's safe enough for us to convene in some other city somewhere."

Chuck gulped. "Safe enough to—You can't stay here."

"Oh, but I must. Don't worry, though, tomorrow I'll leave here and take my part of the loot with me."

He was about to respond, but then the last part of what she said dawned on him. "Your loot. I'm sorry. Pardon me. Maybe I didn't hear correctly. You said, quote, 'take my part of the loot with me'. What loot exactly?"

He didn't want to know. God, he didn't want to know. Oh God, oh God…

"Oh. I must've forgotten to tell you."

"Hm?" He leaned in closer. "Forgotten to tell me what?"

"I deposited some stolen jewels with you."

"What?!" He pushed up to his feet, swaying a little. She had to rush to stand so that she could grab him and keep him from falling back to the floor again. After that knock he took on his cranium, getting up that fast had been a bad idea.

"In your safe, actually." She gestured towards his bedroom and he spun to look at the locked door, spinning back to stare at her again. This couldn't be real. She was teasing him. This was all a big game. She liked to play games. "The police will never look in _your_ safe. You're Charles Bartowski, one of the richest men in all of America. What would _you_ want with stolen jewels, right?" She scoffed.

"Y-You mean that…" He shook his head. "The whole Chellequin shop is in my safe? How would you make it even fit?"

He was so confused. He was terrified again, confused, and he just wanted to go to sleep now.

"No, you silly rich man. How would I ever get all of that in that tiny wall safe? Only a few of the diamonds."

He stared at her with wide eyes. And then the panic set in. "Well, get them out of there!"

Chuck scampered towards the bedroom door, fumbling for the key in his pocket, sticking it in the lock and turning it, sprinting to his safe and looking inside.

"Where? Where'd you put them? I don't see any diamonds."

She calmly walked up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, moving him to the side so that she could reach in and take his wallet out. "In this brown, leather wallet."

She opened the wallet and peered down at it. He was too hysterical over having stolen diamonds in his wallet to notice the way she stroked her thumb over the pocket where he kept the picture of his family. She turned it then and opened the part where he was keeping his American and French coins. There were small—but still quite large—diamonds glittering inside.

"Oh. Oh, this can't—you can't be here with these. These can't be here. Make them go away."

"I can't exactly tell them to leave. You know, they _are_ inanimate objects, after all."

"Stop being adorable and take the diamonds. Take the wallet, too, for all I care. And the bracelet. Just take it all and get out of here."

She frowned. "Chuck, you—"

There was a loud pounding on the door of his suite then. They spun and looked at one another with wide eyes. Chuck dashed past her into the other room and skidded to a halt. "Who—Who is it?"

"It's Thierry from ze front desk, Monsieur! Ze gendarme have come. From zeir headquarters. Zey are waiting in ze lobby for you. Zey would like permission to come up to your suite, Monsieur."

Things had just gone from bad to worse. Much, much worse.

* * *

 **A/N:** Much, much, much, much worse. Just a small note: Sarah was so much fun to write in this scene. Cheeky cute AF devil.

Please review! Thanks, folks!

-SC


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Well well well well well well well well well well well well well well well well. Fancy meeting you all here again. Thanks for your reviews. It's exciting seeing everyone interacting with the story, giving me your ideas about what you think might happen. I love it. Keep doing it.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own CHUCK. I do not own the characters. I'm making exactly no dollars posting this.

* * *

The robber was standing in the doorway when he looked back at her, right where she'd been when he first saw her tonight, after she'd eavesdropped on his conversation with Morgan. There was worry in her face, but that intelligence was there, too. And calm.

"What do we do?" he hissed. "Wait, wait…You have to go. You have to get out of here."

"Using what?" she hissed back.

"The drainpipe! Same way you came up!""That's a fifty foot drop. Getting up is one thing, getting down is another."

"What are you, a cat?"

She gave him a flat look at that.

The knocking sounded again. "Monsieur? What should I tell him? Monsieur Bartowski?"

"Fine, then…then hide for now!" he said, grabbing her by her hands and pushing her towards the bedroom. "This is insane. This is madness. I've got a robber hiding in my bedroom and stolen diamonds in my safe."

The knocking grew more insistent. "Monsieur?!"

"Uh, I-I…" he called out.

"Tell him we're in bed," she breathed.

"We're in bed!" he yelled. Then he gave her a look. " _I'm_ in bed. Just—Just a moment. I'm not dressed."

"Yessir. Shall I tell him you'll be down?"

"Er—Yes, please. Yes. I'll be right down. Momentarily."

"Yessir."

He growled out a quiet, "You're incorrigible," and got a not-so-sheepish shrug from the robber in return.

But then she cupped his face and made him meet her gaze. "Listen to me. I got you into this mess. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Do you understand?" He nodded. "If there's any danger for you, I'll take care of it. I promise. You can depend on me."

He wasn't sure how much he believed her. But he just held onto her elbows and squeezed, ushering her through to the bedroom. "Get under the bed until I'm back and then we'll figure out something."

"First time anyone's ever told me to get _under_ the bed."

And then she was inside of the bedroom, the door shut behind her.

Chuck let out a stressed huff and straightened his shirt, tucking it back into his pants and buckling his belt again, blushing furiously. He stepped back into his shoes and he fixed his hair a bit, before he grabbed his key and pinched at his cheek bones to try to make himself look like he'd been sleeping. What good that did, he had no idea. But it made him feel like it had helped and that was something, he supposed.

Then he went to the door and whipped it open, his suit jacket draped over his arm. As he stepped out, he almost rammed right into a uniformed gendarme who was standing there.

"Oh! I—Excuse me…I thought—"

"Yes, I was ordered to wait in ze lobby. And I felt like it would be more appropriate to conduct zis interview in a more private setting. And so…if you please…" The gendarme gestured for Chuck to go back into his suite.

Thierry gave his guest a look that said very plainly he'd tried his best. Chuck tried to reassure him with a smile and opened his door wide, gesturing for the other man to go in first. "After you, officer."

Chuck tried not to break out in a sweat as he followed the gendarme inside.

"Monsieur Bartowski, it is late and I know you were most likely sleeping when I called on you."

"Oh. That's—That's all right." He bit his tongue to prevent himself from further elaborating.

"I will zerefore get to ze reason why I am here. We had a man who was at ze scene tonight claim zat he saw evidence of a, shall we say, prior relationship between you and one of ze robbers."

"Prior relationship?" Chuck asked, cursing that damn Englishman who'd accosted him. The old bastard. "Oh…" He huffed in amusement and shook his head as the gendarme turned to face him. "That must have been the same fellow who wouldn't let me leave the station, accusing me, putting his finger in my face, snarling and spitting at me about how I was locked in a room alone with one of the robbers. It's absolute hogwash. I don't know where he came up with that nonsense."

"He says you were…and you must pardon me, please, sir, for insinuating anyzing…we just have to ask questions of everyone equally…" The gendarme didn't seem to have much problem questioning Chuck, he thought to himself, but he had to go through the motions of paying the rich American due respect. Because that was what was expected of him. The wealthy were treated differently, Chuck knew. But tonight, he'd use that to his advantage as much as he could. "He says zat you were, uh, flirting."

Chuck wore his best angry face. "My apologies, Officer, er…" He looked at the tag. "Officer Abily, but did—Flirting? Did I hear that correctly?"

"Oui, Monsieur. He says zat you flirted wiz a blond woman who seemed to be ze leader of ze group zat robbed ze Chellequin tonight."

He made himself look even more angry. "How dare he insinuate such a thing?! That's libel. Character assassination. Flirting with a—a robber! How ridiculous! Who in their right mind would _flirt_ with someone holding a gun on them, robbing a jewelry store? Just what sort of a man is this, this fellow who accuses me of something so preposterous? What's his name? I'll press charges."

The gendarme held up his hands. "I understand why you would be upset, Monsieur. It sounded to us like…er, how you Americans say…an old, crazy man rambling. You never met zis woman before?"

"What woman?" Chuck asked, and then he walked around the other man and went to the cognac, sneakily rolling the glass that had been used by the very same woman he'd just asked about under the couch and out of sight. "Would you be interested in some cognac, Officer Abily? I, uh, broke into it earlier on tonight. I'm sure you can understand, it was…necessary. After such an harrowing experience."

"Of course, Monsieur. A very frightening situation. You all behaved very bravely. And er…Well, if you zink you can spare just a finger of ze cognac. It's been a very long night."

"It'll be our little secret, Officer. I can't imagine how hard you must all be working," he said, pouring cognac into a clean glass and handing it over to the gendarme. It softened the man considerably as he smiled with a jolly, "Merci beaucoup".

Chuck cleared his throat. "I got to sleep tonight, at least a bit. You brave souls are out scouring the city for a horrible criminal," he emphasized, hoping that wherever the robber was in his bedroom, she'd heard that. He thought she'd be amused by it. It seemed like her kind of humor.

"Well, Monsieur Bartowski, it is our job." He sipped the cognac and hummed in satisfaction. "Zis is exactly what I needed. Zank you very much."

As he finished it, smacking his lips and smoothing his mustache, he handed the glass back to Chuck.

"It's the least I can do, Officer."

"Well, actually…" He cleared his throat. "Since you mention it, I would like to look in ze ozer room of the suite."

He just barely stopped himself from tensing. "My…bedroom? Why?"

The man shrugged. "Zere have been a few reports tonight of breaking and entering…zings missing from houses and apartments. We don't zink it's related, buuut zese criminals…you never know. If I could just check ze ozer room, Monsieur."

"Oh. Well, nobody was here. Just me. I was—I was sleeping." He walked to the bedroom door still, not wanting to protest too much, for fear it would make the gendarme suspect something was amiss. Chuck opened the door just a crack. "But please, be my guest. Enter my bedroom," he announced a bit louder than was perhaps necessary.

He just wanted to be sure the robber knew a police officer was about to walk into the room so that she could hide herself appropriately.

But as he walked in, he found himself gaping, holding the door for the officer to enter after him.

The two things he was the most worried about—the safe being open and the bed not being slept in—had somehow, miraculously, been fixed for him. The sheets and duvet on his bed were pulled down, mussed, the pillow had a dent in it. And the safe was shut, locked, and appropriately covered.

He knew it wasn't a miracle at all. Not to mention the record player was off, needle back in place.

It was her.

 _If there's any danger for you, I'll take care of it. I promise. You can depend on me._

Apparently, she'd meant that. And she'd brilliantly acted to cover up that anything had happened here, make it look like he'd come home, sipped his cognac, and fallen into bed. He'd never checked his safe, had never been visited by a robber and promptly pinned her to a wall to make out with her, and nearly even dragged her bed. Rather, she'd tried to drag _him_ there.

And he really didn't need to be thinking about that while she was potentially hiding underneath said bed. He took a deep, slow breath. And he silently thanked her for being so fast-acting and clever.

For protecting him like she said she would.

"Anyzing else missing besides ze, er…" He paused and fished out his notepad, flipping it open, murmuring as he read the words on each page, thumbing through. "Ah! Ze charm bracelet zat belonged to your mozer…and ze wallet—brown leazer."

"The brown, leather wallet and the bracelet. That's all. No one came here tonight. I'm a light sleeper. I'd hear them."

The gendarme nodded with a sniff and closed the notepad, slipping it back into his pocket. "Well, so sorry to have bozered you, Monsieur. Ze one complaint was not backed up by any of our ozer witnesses. If I have caused any offense…"

"No, no. Of course not. But I'd like to know that fellow's name. I've run up against this before when I've come to Europe. Maybe because I'm American, maybe because I'm rich."

The gendarme had a flat look on his face as he left the room, and Chuck shut the door behind him as he followed.

Within a few minutes, the man was gone, Chuck was shutting and locking the door, and he was hurrying back to his bedroom. He whipped the door open. "He's gone. I got rid of him. The bed and safe were quick work. I commend you." He paused. "And thank you."

There was no response.

"And also _where are you_?"

He frowned and walked to the bed, getting down on the floor and flipping the skirt up. She wasn't under the bed after all. He stood up. "Are you even here?"

Chuck already knew she was gone as he opened up the door to the closet, peeking inside.

He shut it again and slumped against the wall, pushing a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. In spite of how much of a tiring rollercoaster the last hour had been with her showing up, the talking, the kissing, the wrestling…and finally with the gendarme showing up unannounced, he felt bereft knowing she wasn't here anymore.

He walked out onto the balcony and peered down below. It was dark enough, in spite of the lights, that he couldn't see much. Even if he did see her, what would he do about it? She was gone.

Chuck sighed and walked back into the bedroom, starting to undress.

The excitement over, a sense of melancholy came over him as he realized how likely it was that he'd seen his enigmatic robber woman for the last time. Yes, he'd thought that in the jewelry store a few hours ago, and he'd been wrong then. But there was a feeling of finality to it this time, more so than at the store.

Stripped down to his undershorts, leaving a trail of clothes that ended at the bed, he fell onto the mattress, not even bothering to fix the sheets over him, and he stayed that way for hours, dead to the world, ignorant of the problems that still faced him.

}o{

Taking the hat off of her head, she peered down at it, turning it in her hands.

"Hey, Boss…"

Carina was standing in the doorway, watching. She didn't know how long she'd been there, and now she felt almost self-conscious, vulnerable.

Part of her cursed Chuck Bartowski for it.

"What is it?" she asked, tossing the hat on the bed as though she didn't care about it, as though it wasn't his, and she kicked her feet up, stretching out over the mattress.

"Jay cooked up some eggs and ham if you're hungry. Plenty leftover."

"Jay cooked it?" She raised her eyebrows. "No, thank you."

But she could feel and hear how little of the usual witty teasing bite was in her words, as much as she'd tried to put it there. She covered it up with a smirk. But even that felt…

"You barely ate before the job yesterday, you barely ate last night when we were doing inventory, and now you're gonna skip breakfast? You're gonna eat if I have to tie you up and drag you down there to shove food into your damn mouth."

Sarah arched her eyebrows. "Well, I guess I can't say no to that, now, can I?"

"No. You can't. Now come on."

She let her eyes go to the hat one more time as she slid off of the bed and ruffled her hair, grabbing her robe from the back of the chair and shrugging it on for Jay's sake. He was like a big brother in a lot of ways, but she knew he appreciated the three of them covering up as much as possible. He'd give her the signature "ugh" if she ever forgot to.

"Where'd you get that hat?" Carina asked.

She sighed. "You don't recognize it? It's Bartowski's. He had it yesterday when we robbed him."

"Oh." Carina shrugged as she stopped at the top of the stairs. "Well, why you got it, Blondie?"

How did she answer that? If she _did_ answer it, she'd have to give her a lot more information than she really wanted to give, so instead, she just pursed her lips and said, "I stole it. Figured if I'm gonna give something as expensive as the bracelet back, I should at least get _something else_ in return."

"And you took _that_ monstrosity?" Sarah laughed. "It really _is_ bad, isn't it?"

But the amusement faded as she realized it had been more than that. It was her memento. Part of her was a little glad she hadn't succeeded in dragging the Bartowski heir to bed, as much as she'd wanted it, as much as she _still_ wanted it now. He'd been right last night. It was pure madness. And maybe sleeping together would have made it worse. A lot worse, even. And the way he'd desperately tried to distract her—who was she kidding? Distract them _both_ —by squeaking out "Cognac?!" made her want to wrap herself around him even more. He was insufferably cute, but God help her, she'd suffer. She'd gladly suffer.

"Hey! Earth to Boss-Woman."

Sarah shook herself and looked at the redhead. "What?"

"Where are you this morning?"

"Right here."

"You're not."

But they got to the kitchen and whatever Carina had been about to say must've left her brain because Jay was standing before the stove, piling an egg and ham scramble onto a plate. "Get the toast. The hell is takin' so long?" the man barked over his shoulder at Zondra.

She brandished the butter knife at him. "You drop that tone or I'll put this between your eyes, butter and all, Apron Boy."

Carina laughed, and Sarah let herself smile a little at their antics.

"We found him one with frills," Zondra said, buttering the toast. "How'd you sleep, Boss?"

"Barely," she said.

"Post-heist insomnia." Zondra licked some butter off the end of her finger. "My pop used to get it, too."

Sarah just nodded, heading over to the coffee pot and finding it empty already. "You lousy lot couldn't save some for me?"

"Who's lousy?" Carina groused, passing over a steaming mug of coffee. "I poured it for you. Say thank you."

"Oh. Thank you."

The other three exchanged a look at that and Sarah ignored it. She knew they were expecting another barb, because that was what the four of them did when they weren't in the middle of a robbery. They exchanged barbs, spent their time rolling their eyes at each other, wise-cracking. She just wasn't up to it this morning.

It wasn't just that she was tired.

There was something of an ache in her chest. Because the other part of her wanted more out of that night. It was almost funny, how she'd gone from just wanting to leave his things she'd stolen in his safe and escape again without seeing him at all… to wanting to make love to him and lose herself in his arms. All in less than an hour.

It wasn't to be.

And that hurt more than she wanted it to.

She stayed in her head throughout breakfast, dishes, and as they began talking about what they'd be doing with the loot, and it wasn't until Zondra knuckled her arm from across the drawing board that she finally came out of it.

"What?" she asked.

Her colleagues and friends game her a long look, then looked at each other, and back again.

"I just asked you if everything went off without a hitch last night. The bracelet."

"Oh. I don't have it anymore," she said. "The bracelet."

"Beeecause you gave it back to him?"

"It's in his safe, yes. And I left a small stash of diamonds there, too."

"What?!" Jay barked. "What'd you do that for?!"

She clenched her jaw at him. "Because some of our loot is hidden here, some of it you took to the apartment on Chemin de Sainte-Anne. Some of it is…We spread it around. So I did my share of that, too."

"He know he's got some of _our_ diamonds?" Jay sat back against his chair and crossed his arms.

"Yes. Of course he knows. It's the safest possible place. Who would look in his safe for stolen diamonds? He's Charles Bartowski, one of the richest men in America and a highly respected socialite in France," she argued.

"Wait, he knows?" Zondra blinked.

"It's all right. We're leaving Saint-Tropez late tonight and I'll get the diamonds back before then."

"Mhm, or you're using all of this just so that you can see him again because you're properly besotted," the redhead broke in, smirking.

"Oooh, thaaat's what this is. I should'a known," the brunette added.

Sarah just stared at them. She didn't roll her eyes or jab back at either of them.

"No, I think this time around, I need to just make sure I get in and out of there when he's not in his suite. It wouldn't be smart for me to see him again."

Jay sent the other two a look, his lip curled a little. And then he turned back. "Since when d'you do the _smart_ thing?"

She shrugged. "Since now, I suppose. Listen, do you think you all can figure this out? I need to clean off. I just fell into bed when I got back last night."

They all nodded and she sent them a small smile and walked out of the living room, heading back up the stairs. As she shut herself up in the room again, she tried not to think too hard on what she'd seen in the faces of her friends, her makeshift little crime family. She knew she wasn't her usual self, but she didn't have the energy to try to mask how she was feeling.

The truth of the matter was that she wasn't just talking or waxing poetic when she was with Chuck the night before. After they'd wrestled themselves onto the tile floor beside the couch and she'd nearly cracked his head open by accident. Everything she'd said to him, she'd meant. Every last word of it.

She surprised herself with how much she meant it.

Even when she insinuated she loved him, in not so many words. Because she genuinely thought she did. What else could this heartsickness be now that she thought she couldn't see him again?

Sarah went over to the record player in the corner that had been left there by whomever had occupied this place before they'd taken it over for this robbery. She popped open the cupboard beneath it and thumbed through the record selection. On a whim, she tugged out a Boswell Sisters record and turned it over in her hands, standing up and putting it on.

She moved the needle over and set it down carefully, watching the record spin round and round as she crossed her arms and frowned.

As the soft strumming of the guitar of "Mood Indigo" filled the room with a _thrum thrum thrum,_ the Boswell Sisters' melodious voices following soon thereafter, the seasoned con woman and thief walked back over to her bed and sat on it. She'd met him not even forty-eight hours ago and she was like an adult version of Romeo pining over Juliet after seeing her for a single moment at the Capulets' party. She could only hope that nobody ended up stabbed by the end of this one. Or poisoned.

But there was an ache in her. Not just because she wanted to see him again, already, when it had only been a mere handful of hours since she'd snuck out of his suite. But because she knew she shouldn't see him again.

She wasn't lying to him when she said she was bad, either. She _was_ and he knew it. He just didn't seem to care. Rather, he did care. And he was drawn to her anyway. Or maybe he cared and he was drawn to her _because_ of it. She didn't know. She was so confused.

And yet she was also sure. She was sure that he was good, even if he was a little bad. Even if he was attracted to bad. And maybe that was why she would stay away from him. As good as he was, as good as he had to be, there was no way she could let him get entrapped by her. He deserved so much better.

She was a criminal.

And he was the philanthropist celebrity son of war heroes.

He wasn't for her.

But she wanted him so bad.

The way he'd kissed her, touched her, the aching desperation in his voice and in those warm brown eyes…He wanted her, too. He wanted her like mad. She'd felt it. They were both in trouble. That was what they'd said to one another last night, wasn't it? And it was true. They were.

So she would sneak in, get the diamonds, and sneak out again. Because if she saw him again, she wouldn't stop herself this time. There'd be no one to interrupt. And she wouldn't let him change her mind, no matter how cute he was when he stammered and tried to distract her with insanely expensive, smooth liquor.

Just as she laid herself out on the bed, covering her face with her hands, she heard the soft knock on the door and heard it open with a quiet squeak.

"All right, Moody Martha. We're having a talk."

Sarah pushed herself up onto her elbows and smirked as her best friend in the world slid into the room and shut the door behind her. She crossed her arms, then blew some of her red hair out of her face.

"What kind of a talk is this, Car? I hafta tell ya, I'm really not in the mood for a talk."

"Too bad. You are way out of sorts, Blondie." She crossed the room, grabbing a rickety wooden chair on the way and setting it next to the bed so that she could sit down and reach over to put a hand on Sarah's knee. "Jay basically called you dumb in not so many words and you shrugged."

She scoffed. "Oh, come on."

"No. Sarah." She met Carina's blue gaze with one of her own, her eyes a little wide. "You always shoot something back about his lack of intelligence when he does that. You never miss that kind of opportunity."

Sarah sat up. "Maybe I just didn't feel like it."

"That's obvious. Is it about last night?" The blonde didn't answer. "That's a yes. How'd it go? Besides the fact that you obviously left the bracelet and some of our diamonds with the trust fund kid."

"It went smoothly. He has it all now and he's keeping it safe."

" _He's_ keeping it safe. Just how'd he come to know about the diamonds you left there?"

"I told him, showed him."

"So you _did_ see him last night."

"I tried not to. Really. But he and his short, bearded friend—his assistant, Morgan Grimes—came back just as I was making to leave. And they started talking about what happened and Chuck…" She licked her lips. "Carina, he lied to the gendarme."

Her friend arched her eyebrows. "He lied to them? About what?"

"Most of it. To keep us from getting caught, arrested. He gave them very little about our appearances. He said that I locked him in the washroom. That wasn't at all what happened. And he did it for us."

"For you."

"Fine. For me. Yes."

"So you…" Carina winked saucily. "You know. Filling the—"

"Don't finish that, dear God." The redhead laughed at that. "And no, we didn't. We didn't do that. But Lord above, that man can kiss." She let out a long, satisfied hum and hugged herself, biting her lip.

"Well. Good for him," Carina murmured, seeming impressed.

"Good for _me_ ," she corrected. "I'm the one who reaped all the benefits." Then she shook her head, leaning her chin on her palm and sighing. "I just don't know…I mean, it's not exactly like…" She finished it with a shrug, not quite knowing what she meant to say.

"So?" Carina sat up straight and fixed her with an expectant stare. "What's next?"

"There is no next, Carina." The stare from the redhead continued. "What?! Look, I think you're all putting a lot more stock in this than there actually is, all right? It was a…heated dalliance. One that didn't reach the—Well, anyway, it was a dalliance. A flirtation. And that's it."

"Why are you so depressed then?"

"I'm not depressed."

"Fine. You're very very very very very very sad."

"I'm not sad!" Sarah paused, met with a flat look that was incredibly effective, damn it all anyway. "Ugh, Carina, I am sad. I'm so stupid. I'm stupidly sad." She huffed. "Why'd this have to happen? Why'd I have to meet this marvelous man who's worth ten thousand of any other person on this Earth, and fall for him, and…Ugh. And."

"And what?"

"I don't know, Carina! I don't know. He drives me insane."

"Ahhh…l'amour."

"Oh, shut up."

"I'm not kidding. You're in love."

"I know. I know I know I know." She took another deep breath and bit the inside of her cheek. "C, I saw…I saw a picture of him with his sister and his parents from when he was a kid, ya know? It was in his wallet. And I felt like my heart was gonna just…burst. And he cares about people. He protects his family, and his friend Morgan. He protected me, and by extension all of us. He did it twice, and when the gendarme really put him on the spot, too."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I told you already. I need to go to his suite when he isn't there, get the diamonds before we break out of this town, and never look back."

"Never look back?" Carina crossed her arms thoughtfully. "Is that gonna make you happy?"

"Of course not. The thought of it hurts like hell."

"Then why are you doing it?"

Sarah just gaped at her like she was stupid. "I'm the Ice Queen. Remember? And this-this is a man who is constantly plastered in magazines and newspapers, thanks to his money, all of his charity work, being in the public eye so much because of his parents' sacrifice for our country ten years ago. He's an aristocrat. How am I supposed to fit into his life? Even more ridiculous is the idea that he could ever fit into mine."

"Who cares?"

She frowned at her friend. "I…do?"

"Do you want it to be forever?"

"I don't know. That's a ridiculous question. I met him maybe thirty-five hours ago for the first time. And before that, he was just a face in newspapers to me, like he is for everyone else." She shrugged. "But I know I want to be around him. Talk to him. It's so deliciously fun talking to him."

"Mhm. I've never seen anyone go toe to toe with you like that. I was impressed…even while I was cleaning out cases of expensive jewelry." Carina smirked.

"Look, none of this matters. I'm doing him a favor. He'll move on with his life and he's better off. And maybe-maybe I am, too. What good is a man like that going to do me?" She cursed. "So much good. I answered my own question; you don't even have to say anything." She cursed again. "You see how this has me thinking in circles? I'm such a wreck."

"You're in love and that's what happens." Carina stood up then and stretched, then she grabbed Sarah's hand and pulled her to her feet in front of her. "Go wash up, take a long bath or somethin'. Get relaxed. And then meet the troupe downstairs. We can plan then."

"Plan…getting out of here, you mean?"

"No. Something else entirely. I think I've got the makings of an idea. You might not like it, but that's just too damn bad."

"What do you mean?" Sarah grabbed her friend by the shirt sleeve. "What are you concocting in that evil brain of yours?"

"I'm just lookin' out for you. Just get in there and relax. Trust me. Trust _us_."

Before Sarah could argue, the redhead hurried out of the room. They trusted her in the most dire and dangerous circumstances. And in many cases, they trusted her—their leader—with their lives.

She supposed she should trust them, too. If only just this once.

}o{

 _Slam! Slam! Slam!_

"Chuck! Chuck, you in there?"

He opened his eyes, blinking at the curtains he'd groggily yanked over the balcony doors at whatever time he'd woken up this morning to light spilling over his bed and face. He'd promptly staggered back to bed, fallen into it, and passed out again immediately.

What time was it now, he wondered?

Did it matter?

What actually mattered?

"Chuck! Open the door or I'm getting Thierry to do it!"

His sister.

His sister mattered.

Groaning, the philanthropist, alleged playboy, and filthy rich heir to the Bartowski fortune climbed out of his bed and hobbled to his closet, sweeping it open and grabbing his robe, tossing it on over his undershorts and tying it shut as he ruffled his hair. He didn't care that he'd yanked the robe too hard and the hanger ended up on the floor. He didn't care about a lot of things.

The pounding sounded on the door again. "Chuck!"

He guessed he cared about the crazy woman trying to punch through his door, though.

"I'm coming!" he barked as he crossed the main room of the suite and finally unlocked, unchained, and pulled open the door. "Is a parade of zoo animals after you or something?"

Ellie _and_ Thierry Renard, the hotel co-owner, were standing side by side in the hallway, Thierry with barely suppressed amusement and Ellie with a supremely flat look on her face.

"Oh. Hello, Thierry. How are you this morning?"

"Oh, my morning was very productive, Monsieur Bartowski. But I must inform you zat it is one in ze afternoon. It's no longer morning." He bit the inside of his cheek and folded his hands in front of him.

"I called your room three times this morning to check up on you, you idiot, and I thought you'd been arrested!"

He frowned in confusion. "Arrested? Why? _I_ didn't rob the store."

"I called Thierry and asked him if he'd seen you leave and he told me the gendarmerie had sent someone here to your room. When you didn't answer the phone and just now, how it took you five whole years to come to the door," she got an eye roll from him for that one, "I thought they'd taken you away for some reason and I'd have to bail you out."

Chuck gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I was…Well, I couldn't sleep. And then they woke me, showing up at my room, and then I couldn't sleep again for a while, so I…slept through your calls and I was still in bed when you knocked. So sue me. I went through a lot yesterday."

His sister closed the distance and wrapped her arms around him tightly, breathing a sigh of relief. "I know. We all did. I'm just glad you're here."

He hugged her back. "I'm here. Where's Devon?"

"Talking to our lawyers about the loss of the bracelet and all of that. He's seeing how we can go about trying to handle it. I think we have to claim losses that big."

Chuck blanched a little. "Oh. That."

"It's all right, Chuck. It was a good idea, trying to hide it. And it's not your fault they took it."

He cleared his throat and sent Thierry a look.

"Ah. Yes. I'm going back downstairs," the man said. "Glad to see no one is in jail. If you need anyzing else, just give me a ring."

"Thank you for dealing with my anxiety, Thierry. You're a good man," Ellie called after him, pulling away from her brother.

Chuck grabbed her arm and moved her inside of his room then, shutting the door behind her.

"Ow, what are you—What's that look on your face for?"

"Um."

"That reminds me. You should tell Devon about the wallet. Maybe Killion can help you get that all replaced, too. I'm sure it had your driver's license and everything." She walked past him to the phone. "I'll try to call Devon in our room and ask him to talk to Killion about it."

"Well, maybe don't…er…do that yet."

"Why?" she asked, and because Ellie was smarter than even he was, she was already fixing him with a dubious look.

"Because I have my wallet."

"You what?"

"It's in my safe, and I'm keeping it there. And guess what else is in my safe."

"The Queen of England?" she sassed. "What the hell is going on here? You reported the wallet was stolen, along with Mom's charm bracelet. What, do you still have that, too?"

"Yes."

"What?!" She crossed the room in a hot second, grabbing the lapel of his robe in both hands. "Chuck, why did you report them stolen if you had them? You lied to me, too!"

"They _were_ stolen and I didn't lie to you."

She let go of him. "All right, now I'm confused. Do you have the wallet and bracelet or not?"

"I have it now. But I didn't when I told the gendarme and you that I didn't."

"What you just said did not help me with my comprehension. At all."

He huffed and gestured for her to follow him, leading her into his bedroom. He uncovered his safe and opened it, stepping aside and waving a frustrated hand at the contents. Ellie just stood there, staring at the wallet and the bracelet. And then she pounced, grabbing them both, holding them, and looking down at them in her hands.

"Chuck, you'd better explain this. And fast."

"I'm _trying_ to!"

She just gave him a very severe look, and for a moment, she reminded him of his mother, and a sadness swept over him. He cleared his throat and looked away, moving to take the wallet and bracelet from her. She snatched the bracelet back, though. He didn't know why. Maybe it made her feel better to hold it. He didn't know, but he put the wallet back.

"Look, these _were_ stolen. The—The robbers took the bracelet and before she left, their leader grabbed my wallet, too. As a memento," he finished, biting his cheek to keep from smiling.

"As a mem—You know what? I'm not even going to ask. If she stole them, how do you have them?"

"She brought them back to me."

Ellie's eyebrows went up to the hairline. "She…brought them back to you? To the store?"

"No. She came here last night."

"WHAT?!"

"Shh! Ellie, quiet."

"Quiet? Excuse me, Charles Irving, but you just told me that a jewel thief with a gun came into your room last night, and I will not be quiet!" She pushed her hands through her hair and paced, rubbing her hands up and down her jean capris she was wearing. "Is that why the gendarmerie sent an officer here? You called them, right? Because a robber was here? What else did she take?"

"You aren't listening! She came to _return_ my wallet and Mom's bracelet. She didn't take anything else."

Ellie's brow furrowed in utter confusion. "Why?!"

"That was what I wanted to know, too. She-She felt bad."

"She _felt bad_?!"

"Yes. She took the bracelet and I told her it was the last thing we had of our mother's. I begged her not to take it. It must've gotten to her so she came back here to put it in the safe. Where it would be…well, safe."

His sister shook her head and let out a harsh breath. "This is madness."

"It gets madder."

Eleanor Faye Bartowski groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath. "All right. So…I'm here. It's just us. I'm your sister. I love you…"

"I know all of that."

"I'm reminding _myself_!" she snapped.

Chuck widened his eyes and pulled his lips back between his teeth, making a soft popping sound. "Oh."

"Just tell it to me straight, would you? Please?"

"She brought them back because she felt bad, but it also had a lot to do with, er, with me." Ellie raised an eyebrow. "I know. It sounds completely farfetched but she and I…Look, I didn't lie to the gendarme about these being stolen by the robber, but I did lie when I told them she locked me in the store's washroom. She didn't. I wouldn't let her."

"So what _did_ she do?"

"We…talked." He forced himself not to wince as he told her honestly, "We flirted." He watched his sister's jaw slowly drop open. "She robbed the safe. And it wasn't like I could stop her; she had a gun. So I just had to let it happen. And then before she left, she took the bracelet and my wallet." He opted not to tell her he'd been the one to fill the bag with the jewelry from the safe. And he wouldn't tell her about getting the gun back from the robber and turning it on her, only to let her go anyway. She didn't need to know just how much of an accomplice he'd been in the robbers' getaway.

"All right, well…that's rather incriminating. Not to mention the fact that you were _flirting with a criminal_ ," she whispered through her teeth. "Are you insane?"

"Maybe." He shrugged. That answer just made her roll her eyes. "But she's fascinating."

"Men are so predictable."

"Hey, _she_ started it. So don't 'men are predictable' me!" He paused. "I mean, we are. We are predictable. But this particularly situation, I feel like she's the one who came onto _me_ first. She's the one who asked me to dance."

"I got that part. She followed us that night and then cozied up to you. I could call her some things, but I'd like to not invite the wrath of karma. Then she followed us to the store and robbed it."

He shook his head. "No, that was a coincidence, I think."

"You think? Based on what?"

"They'd planned that robbery far too well for it to have been done spur of the moment. Everything down to knowing when the protective agent would arrive and how to handle it when he did."

"Hmm. You have a point."

"But the flirtation from the night before bled over into yesterday. At the store. And the crackling embers of pure and unadulterated attraction blew up between us and I just couldn't stop myself." Ellie gaped. "That's a lie. I could've stopped myself. Whenever people say 'I couldn't stop myself', they're lying. I could've stopped, I just didn't want to. It was so much fun. Too much fun. I was living off of it. It felt so good."

"Are you hearing yourself, brother?" she asked him, mouth still agape.

"I am, and I know how I sound. But—"

"But you need to hear how this sounds from _my perspective_ for a second. Because I'm looking at my brother who is waxing poetic about flirting with a woman who held a gun on me. She held a gun on my husband. On my brother. And then she stole everything out of that jewelry store." She held her hands out. "Come on, Chuck!"

"You're right. I know. You're completely right. You need to understand where I'm coming from, though, El."

"You're coming from: She has long legs, dangerous blue eyes, and the prettiest face you've ever seen in your life. I get it. But she also held a gun on us," she hissed.

Chuck frowned. "Would you believe me if I told you I had a gut feeling she wouldn't have used it on us?"

"No."

"Well, maybe—"

"Wait, I take it back. I believe you had your…gut feeling or whatever it was. But you can't convince me she wouldn't have shot any one of us if we looked like we might spoil her robbery."

"Ellie, you weren't here last night," he said, crossing to her and hunching a bit to meet her green eyes with his brown ones. Granted, he was infinitely glad she hadn't been there last night. Things would've gone a lot differently. For instance, he wouldn't have spent an entire five minutes underneath the person Morgan called his enigmatic robber woman, her lips on his…

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You saw the woman robbing the store. For maybe…ten minutes at the most, that was the person you saw. A hardened criminal. Standing there in that safe with her yesterday, and then again last night when she came back, she wasn't a hardened criminal. She was a woman, flesh and blood. The only woman I've ever felt like I could be fully honest with…God, besides my sister," he groused. "I felt like I could tell her anything and I wouldn't be judged or mocked."

"Well, buddy boy, that's probably because anything you might say to her wouldn't be quite as bad as being a jewel robber." She shrugged sarcastically.

"Stop it. You know what I mean. I felt comfortable telling her things, knowing she wouldn't recoil or run away."

"At least, not before she managed to get the jewels in the suitcase first."

"Ellie," he reprimanded.

"No, I'm sorry. You're being ridiculous. Did you knock your head last night? Are you taking dope?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I'm not taking—Cut it out, El. I'm serious. When she was here last night, she was honest with me, too."

"Ohhhhh, give me a break!" Her voice was starting to raise in pitch now. "You really think a person like that is capable of honesty? What, did you look into her eyes?" she mocked. "You're being downright foolish, Chuck. And you know I don't say things like this unless I need to say them, but you're. being. foolish."

"Maybe I am!" he argued. "I might be completely out of my mind, Ellie, but for the first time since Mom and Dad died, I feel something!" The anger fell from her face at that, and she seemed to almost soften. He kept going, because he had to. He was aching to. "You've seen it in me, I know you have. Because I saw all the times you tried to help, thinking you were being so subtle." He gave her a wan, crooked smile. "But you know I haven't really _enjoyed_ anything for ten years. Not just because of them, but because of…all of this." He gestured around them. "Always putting on a face, an aristocrat living up to the standards—parties, charity events, public appearances, more parties, more public appearances, parading about with this oil magnate's daughter on my arm, and when that fizzled out—because that's always how it goes, a fizzle, no bang or boom or dramatic fight, just a damn fizzle—I'd have a Rockefeller woman on my arm, then some distant Royal Family member in England, and on and on and on. And it hasn't even been driving me crazy. I can't even say that much. At least that'd be _something_. I've just been…numb. Everything's the same. Nothing matters. I just shovel money at veterans and orphans and other causes—and they're all worthy causes and of course it's important, but it…" He let out a frustrated breath and growled.

"I've been in such a rut. You know it, too. Trying to set me up with people, taking me on this trip to Europe, the trip to Niagara Falls last year. It's been fun, and I've loved it all. Really. And I appreciate it, El. That night when I danced with her in my arms, the way she butted heads with me, kept me on my toes…it was like somebody poked my brain with a cow prod and put it on full blast. She was a challenge," he said, unaware of the grin growing on his face. "And it was exciting. There was a thrill in me that I…I'm sure I've never felt anything like it before, El."

She watched him closely, starting to gnaw on her lip.

"It's hard to explain, but do you…do you know what I mean? At least a little? She's awakened something in me. In that jewelry store, in the safe especially when it was just me and her, it was even better. She put her gun away and it was like a duel, standing face to face, dueling with words. I could see what I felt in her eyes. It was a blast. And I wanted it to last so much longer than it did."

"She put her gun away and you didn't…"

"No. I didn't."

"But Mom's bracelet."

"She hadn't taken it at that point. But like I told you, she brought that back last night. You're holding it in your hand right now. How else would I have gotten it back if she hadn't done that?"

"The police catching and arresting her." But the heat and hysteria were both gone from her voice and she just seemed exhausted as she rubbed a hand down her face. "I have noticed."

He just waited, watching.

"I've noticed all of it. I love you, Chuck. With our parents gone, I felt it was my duty to take care of you, make sure nothing happened to you. But I let you slip into some sort of…emotional coma."

"That makes it sound way worse than it is." He chuckled quietly. "It's not really an emotional coma. I have emotions! I've just been in a big ol' rut. And last night, I felt…passion. Full-bodied, all-encompassing, intense passion."

"Ooookay, I don't…need…that."

Chuck blushed. "We didn't—"

"I don't want to know."

"Right. But for the record, that's not what I mean. Not entirely, at least. Just talking to her, hearing her laughter—"

"The robber laughs? It wasn't maniacal laughter? Like ' _ha ha ha_ I stole the entire summer stock of the Chellequin jewelry store'?"

He gave her an unamused look and she smirked.

"Ellie, she makes me feel alive. Last night, when she was talking to me, telling me things, when I told her things back…We were laying all our cards out on the table, both of us, and I felt like I was finally living and not just going through the motions of what I think everyone expects of me. Because that's what I've been doing for a whole decade. It hasn't been terrible. I'm not saying woe is me or anything. I've had a good life. And I'm privileged, so lucky. I've got you and Devon and Morgan. And I am happy mostly. But this woman and I have a connection that I never thought was even possible…"

"All right, Chuck. You have a connection." She nodded. "She makes you feel alive. I get that. I'm sure it's exciting, meeting someone who lives this life of danger, waving guns around in people's faces, stealing instead of putting in the hard work of earning a living—"

"Hey," he interrupted. "Remember where you're coming from. The two of us were born with silver spoons in our mouths. _Gold_ spoons. Encrusted in diamonds."

She huffed. "Plenty of people who aren't born with our wealth don't become robbers, Chuck."

Chuck winced. "That's a good point, I suppose."

"But that's not—What I'm trying to say, Chuck, is that you laid all your cards out on the table, so…tell me something about her."

"Oh." He nodded. "All right, well…" He wracked his brain for something of note. "She…likes cognac."

"Does she? Or is that the only thing you have to offer her in this suite and she drank it?"

He gave her a weak smile. "No."

"Chuck, come on…"

"She has blond hair."

"This is getting pitiful. What's her real name? Tell me you got _that_ much, in all these…cards you two were laying out on the table." She crossed her arms, the bracelet still dangling from her fingers.

Chuck frowned, pushing a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

"Really?"

"That's not important." His sister rolled her eyes and he moved up close to her, framing her shoulders with his hands, trying to will the words into his mouth that might make her see, at least somewhat. "Because I do know some things about her now. Like the fact that she has as much capacity for warmth as she does for mischief. And when those two things combine in her…" He bit his lip and groaned quietly. "I know that my lying to protect her was so out of left field for her that it left her stunned. She suddenly didn't have anything to say to that. Which makes me think there aren't many people in her life who do kind things for her."

"That wasn't just a kind thing, Chuck. You perjured yourself. You could be arrested for that if they found out."

"That doesn't matter." Her eyes bugged out at that but he ignored it. "She can be unbelievably caring and doting," he said, his voice soft as he remembered the way her fingers had felt, gently stroking through his hair at the back of his head. He reached back and touched the spot again, wincing as it hurt. Oh. He'd forgotten about it in all this tumult.

"What happened to your head? Did she hit you?"

"What?! No! She didn't hurt me in any, way, shape, or form. I accidentally bumped my head and she checked it, made sure I wasn't bleeding, apologized because it was kind of her fault, even though I was the one who did it." He smiled. "She's wonderful." He cleared his throat, pulling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. "And she likes a man who's as stubborn as she is. God, she's stubborn. It's invigorating. She lives for the present. And she's a beautiful pianist."

"She told you she plays the piano?"

"No. I just imagine she'd be wonderful at it. She has these strong hands with long fingers…"

"All right, you've absolutely gone off the deep end," Ellie said, but there was amusement in her eyes. "This is madness. You know that, right?" She lowered her chin and fixed him with a long look through her eyelashes.

"I know it is. Trust me. I said it to her a thousand times last night, and she said it back to me."

"And what do you mean to do about this? You can't exactly be in a healthy relationship with a criminal. Have you thought about this? Or are you, quote, living in the present?" she asked, and he couldn't blame her for the slight mocking tone.

"I don't think I can do anything about it. When the gendarme arrived last night, I made her hide in here," he said, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. "By the time I convinced him that nothing was amiss, that nothing else had been stolen, I came back and she was gone. She snuck out somehow." He stuffed his hands in the pockets of the robe and sighed. "I don't know if I'm ever going to see her again. Though I imagine she'll come back for the diamonds she left with me, I don't think she'll say hello this time."

"I'm sorry, what? The what she what?" Ellie's eyes popped again and she lowered her arms to her side.

"Oh. Uhhhh…"

"Did you say she left diamonds with you? As in more than the two items she stole from you yesterday?"

Chuck winced. "Yes."

"What did she leave?! Was it some kind of gift?! Is she _trying_ to get you thrown in jail?! Whose diamonds?!"

"They're from the store."

Ellie cursed and held onto her head. "Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse. My brother's in love with a jewel thief. That's not bad enough; she's also making him keep some of her stolen loot safe for her."

Chuck was about to address the last part, but then he realized what Ellie had just said. "Wait, what? I'm not in love—What? No."

His sister gave the biggest roll of her eyes he'd ever seen in his entire twenty-seven years of life.

"Chuck, please. I'm your sister. I know you. And I've been standing right here watching you stumble over yourself with that dreamy look on your face while talking about her. And the _way_ you're talking about her? Listen, she's easily the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life. Even while I was terrified, I noticed. And not once did you mention anything about her looks through all of this. You're in love. You're _an idiot_ , because you couldn't fall in love with…literally anybody else. You had to fall in love with someone who holds up jewelry stores."

She rubbed her temples.

"I couldn't help it."

"Yes, well…I have a feeling you didn't try very hard. Can you just answer this one question for me? Are you in trouble?"

There was no way for him to talk around it.

"Yes. Deep trouble." Then he took a deep breath as he watched worry crease her features, and he pulled her in close, meeting her concerned gaze. "But I'm _living_ for it. I have a fire in me. And you're right. I am in love. It feels great."

She sighed deeply. "Doesn't it?"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "I get it now. Completely."

Ellie cupped his face and looked at him steadily. "I can't say I'm happy about this. Because I'm not. And I'd never lie to you about something this important. But I need you to know that I'm your older sister and I love you and I'm going to protect you to my dying breath. So if you haven't seen her for the last time, if you think you might see her again…promise me you know what you're doing. Promise me you won't get yourself arrested or killed."

"She won't let me."

"Is that another one of your gut feelings?" she asked with a crooked smirk.

"No. She promised me."

"Well. Let's hope she keeps her promises."

Ellie moved in to hug him, and he found himself thinking that he'd never loved his sister more than he did at that moment.

* * *

 **A/N:** Put Ellie down for the BEST SISTER EVER award. Please leave review because they're great! Thanks!

-SC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews, once again! The story continues! Hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own a thing. I'm just here to love on this show and share that love with my buddies. I make $0 from it.

* * *

Chuck glanced away from his cocktail at the couple out on his balcony. His brother-in-law had never been shy about showing affection when it came to Ellie. And just at the moment, they were enjoying the crisp night air of Saint-Tropez while in a passionate embrace he wasn't so sure he was supposed to see.

But it filled him with joy to see them living, loving, to see them so happy. He understood it now. Before, it had made him glad—glad that Ellie had found a genuinely good man, more than just the returned war hero and world famous heart surgeon and lecturer that Devon Woodcomb had become. Devon was everything he and Ellie had needed after their parents had died. He was their rock, and the way he'd extended himself not just to protect Ellie when he came back from the war, but to take Chuck in as his brother, teach him things his dad wouldn't be there to teach him anymore. Devon deserved his sister, and Ellie deserved him. They both deserved this kind of happiness.

Now, though…He didn't know how to put it in words, even in his own head, but there was an extra feeling of pure joy in him. Because he could relate to the elation he'd seen on his sister's face when she first met Devon at a downtown party one of her friends had thrown. She'd come home, still dancing. She'd flung herself over his bed, giggling…like an idiot, he'd thought at the time. He'd been annoyed with her for telling him about it, still only sixteen and not caring about her exploits with the soldier. He remembered saying, "You've known him all of an hour, you ninny. Calm down."

He understood it now. It had only taken a few minutes for it to happen to him. He was swept right off of his feet, the way Ellie had been by Devon as a twenty-year old debutante.

Now they were married.

That wasn't in the cards for him and his robber. He wasn't bitter about it, not towards Ellie and Devon. Envious, certainly. Bitter, no. She was right. He'd fallen in love with someone who was well out of his grasp, as much as he'd felt how much she wanted it, too. What was the phrase? Two ships passing in the night…?

It made him want to kick something.

But that was how it had to be. And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd put off Ellie's invitation to go out for dinner because he thought she would come back for the diamonds while he was away from his room with his family. He thought his sister'd gotten a look on her face that meant she knew exactly why he was offering they dine in his suite. And she'd gotten the same look again when he'd purposely opened the door to the bedroom wide, so that he could see or hear if anyone climbed in to take back the diamonds.

She wouldn't want to see him again, his robber. He just had a feeling. She was smart. She was a survivor. And she'd known that their meeting again might put everything at risk. She wouldn't chance it. Not again. Especially after the gendarme had arrived at his place last night. It was too dangerous for her to be anywhere near him.

He imagined she and her team had already moved on.

And yet, his life felt… rather like he had purpose now, didn't it?

He diverted his gaze from the kissing couple and let them have their moment, sipping his drink.

"Do they have to do it where I can see it?" Morgan grumbled from the settee across from Chuck. He looked up and smirked at his best friend who was lazing across the settee and enjoying a post-dinner cigarette.

"I don't think that's for your benefit, Morgs. Sorry to tell ya."

The bearded fellow just grumbled again. He'd always had a yen for Ellie, from the time they were kids playing together and Ellie would come out into the yard to tell them to head inside and wash up for supper.

Morgan had the same look on his face that he still got now when he looked at her sometimes… with the addition of a beard now, of course.

Chuck glanced at the clock on the wall, then checked his own watch. "Hey, didn't you have a date in a few minutes?" The other man's eyes popped and he sat up, inhaling the smoke too quickly and choking. Chuck poured him some water and handed it to him. "You all right there, pal?"

"Y-Yes," he rasped. "And you're right. I do. I'm meeting her across the street at Le Bonne." He smoothed his hand over his beard and smoldered a bit. "I figured I'd treat her to something extra nice." Chuck snorted and shook his head. "Are you, uh, you seeing your…ahem…tonight?" Morgan bobbed his eyebrows.

"My enigmatic robber woman?" Chuck asked. "I already told Ellie and Devon about all of it, and you know this, Morgan."

"Oh. Yes, I know but…Well, it made me feel a bit more special when it was just me who knew about your secret love affair."

"There's no affair, Morgan. And there won't be one. I don't think I'll be seeing her again. She's probably in Morocco at this point, or at least on her way there."

"Morocco? S'that where they're headed next? I could stand Morocco. In case…you know."

He chuckled. "No, I just made it up. She never told me where she's going. I should think she wouldn't want me to know. I'm impulsive enough to follow her and in spite of only meeting me for the first time forty-eight hours ago, she probably already knows that about me. She's brilliant like that."

"Well, I hope you do see her."

"Thanks." Chuck smiled a little. "But it might be for the best that I don't." He glanced over his shoulder towards the bedroom, where she'd stood leaning against the doorframe last night after Morgan had left. And everything that had transpired afterwards…

 _…A regular girl, with a regular life and a regular job, might say it was because she loved you. I'm no regular girl, so I can't say that. But I do._

Did she? The way she'd touched him, the way her voice had been so sincere and quiet, as though she couldn't quite believe she was saying the words, made him think she meant it. In hindsight, he truly thought she did love him.

And God, he knew it'd be best for everyone if that had been the end, her cupping his face and telling him she'd take care of him and keep him from danger in this whole robbery mess.

But he didn't want them to be two ships passing in the night. He wanted her. In so many ways, he wanted her. Or, at least, he wanted to see her one last time, if that was all this could be.

To feel her lips on his again…

He loved her.

He wouldn't forget about her, not in a million years. And oh, he was in such trouble.

Because no other woman would ever compete.

"…Chuck?"

He blinked and looked up. Ellie and Devon stood there, arms linked. Ellie rolled her eyes at him. "Thinking about _her_ again, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I'm guilty, as charged." He shrugged lamely, then grinned up at her. "How could I not?"

Devon grinned and winked, earning a look from his wife. "Listen, I've made it my life's work to champion love, in all forms. My brother-in-law is in love with a jewel thief. That falls under the umbrella. I am championing this love." He leaned down and grabbed Chuck's shoulders, shaking him a little. "I'm your champion, Chuckie!"

Chuck couldn't help but laugh. "I love you, Devon."

"I champion that kind of love, too. Brotherly love. Eh?" Then he looked around. "Wait, where's Morgan?"

He blinked and followed Devon's gaze. "Oh. He had a date. He must've left just now."

"And you didn't see him leave? Wow, you're really sunk, Chuck," Devon said, a big toothy grin on his face. "At the bottom of the ocean in cement shoes sunk."

"Didn't I tell you?" Ellie nudged her husband. "I've never seen him like this."

"I'm proud of you."

"I didn't do it on purpose, Devon," he said with a look.

"We're going dancing at the club that's out over the water," Ellie said. "Wanna come with us?"

"A little cha-cha! A little rumba!" Devon did a genuinely poor excuse for a rumba where he stood, earning a flat look from both his wife and his brother-in-law.

Ellie turned back to Chuck. "I've changed my mind. We're not going dancing anymore."

She squealed and giggled as Devon dove in to tickle her sides.

Chuck laughed and shook his head. "You two enjoy yourselves. I'm still exhausted from last night."

"I bet you are, you rascal." Devon mussed his hair.

"All right, well…On that note, we're going." Ellie gave Devon a look again, earning a shrug, and leant down to kiss Chuck on the cheek. She stayed with her face close to his instead of standing up again, though, looking right into his eyes. "If something…happens tonight, will you promise me to be careful? To take care of yourself?"

He took her meaning quite clearly, and he squeezed her arm and nodded, watching her stand to her full height again. He stood up as well. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that, El. She's long gone. But!" he rushed when she put her hands on her hips. "I promise you that I'll take the utmost care of myself, no matter what."

Chuck followed them to the door and opened it for them. "I'm pretty certain that's going to mean another couple of drinks and reading The Martian Chronicles in bed."

"Sounds fascinating," Ellie droned, rolling her eyes. She became serious again as Devon went out into the hall, waiting for her as she stood in the doorway. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. "If she is gone…I'm not going to have to worry about you, am I? I mean, now that you've tasted it and…"

"Lost it?" he finished for her. She winced and he chuckled wrapping her hand up in his and tightening his fingers reassuringly. "I'll be just fine, sis. I still feel more alive than I was on Monday. And nothing's gonna change that. I'm gonna start living instead of going through the motions."

"I'm glad." She kissed his cheek again and was whisked away by her husband, leaving Chuck to shut the door behind them.

He meant what he'd said to Ellie. Loving a woman he had no chance of being with had still made everything feel more vibrant. He wanted to take this and run with it. What did Morgan say during dinner? Tasting the spice of life? He wanted it. He'd had a taste of it with the robber, and now he wanted to continue to seek it out.

Whether it involved romance with another person or not.

Chuck fought off a wave of melancholy as best he could as he stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled back over to where he left his cocktail on the table. He looked down at it and sighed, pressing his lips together. Then he leaned down and picked it up, finishing it off, going right back to the tray he'd had the hotel deliver to him with all of their favorites. He didn't care what he grabbed—one of the clear ones—pouring it into the glass, tossing an olive in it, and going out onto the balcony Ellie and Devon had commandeered to share a romantic moment a few minutes earlier.

He held onto the stone railing and shut his eyes, wanting so badly to hear her voice. _I thought they'd never leave_ , she'd say, just like she had about Morgan last night. Or maybe she'd just say his name. Even join him out on the balcony.

He could make her a drink like his and they could just stand out here in the moonlight. He could wheel the record player up to the door and put something on for them to dance to again.

He really did mean what he said to Ellie. He'd be all right never seeing the enigmatic robber woman again, as sure as he was that he loved her. As sure as he was that he'd never stop loving her. He knew how melodramatic that was. He felt it as he thought it. But he didn't care how melodramatic he was being, because he was also realistic.

Chuck wasn't going to hear her voice wafting out to him on the balcony. She wasn't going to come tonight. She wasn't going to come ever.

And he'd survive. He'd do more than that. He'd take the experience and use it to spur himself into taking chances and going full steam ahead into new experiences, instead of hanging back and playing it safe.

He missed her already, though. And maybe he'd missed her the moment he'd discovered she'd already left after his run-in with the gendarme. Because part of him had known then…that was the end of the whole thing.

Finishing the cocktail much faster than he had the last, he walked back inside and refilled his glass for a third time.

He was completely fine. He would be fine. He was living his life to its fullest from now on. With or without his stunning mystery of a woman. Without. He'd have to make do without.

And he was fine.

He took an even bigger gulp. It must be gin. He was drinking gin.

And he was perfectly fine.

With or without her.

He'd already thought that, hadn't he? Yes. But only because it was true. He took another gulp, wincing. Maybe there was another exciting woman out there. She didn't have to be a con woman or a thief. Perhaps she was a painter or a journalist. Better yet, he might meet a trapeze artist. He'd go to the circus and begin dating a trapeze artist.

That would be exciting.

And he knew he was being foolish. Unless the trapeze artist was his enigmatic robber woman, she'd never be even a fraction as exciting. Was it even possible to experience that fire with another person like that? Is that what love was supposed to be like?

Or were they somehow the only two people in human history to ever have that happen? Were they an anomaly? If he shared his story, if he wrote it down as a novel, would it sell millions of copies and be made into a movie?

Hitchcock might enjoy directing that one. He had a way of getting around the censors and the make-out scene on the tile floor beside the couch absolutely _had_ to be in the film. There was no way to get around it.

Perhaps in the film, they might actually consummate the relationship.

Maybe he'd have the guts to throw caution to the wind and let her drag him to bed after all. Artistic license and all that. And wherever she was when the movie came out, she'd buy a ticket, sit down in the theater, recognize his name, his story, and she'd whisper to herself, "That's me."

Veronica Lake would play her. No, Rita Hayworth. Definitely Rita Hayworth. Her hair would have to be blonder than it had been in _Salome_.

Before he knew it, three and a half cocktails were gone and he'd had five olives. He set his glass down and stared at the liquid swishing inside of it.

Was straight gin even a cocktail? He didn't know or care.

He was going to go to Hawaii and jump off of one of those high cliffs into the water below. _That_ was living. That was the kind of living he was going to do. Death-defying living.

Would he rather lie on a floor somewhere with a blond jewel thief draped over him, telling him she loved him? No.

Yes.

"Every damn time," he murmured to himself. And then he cursed again, pushing his hands through his messy curls.

How did people do this love thing when it was this real? How did they do it?

 _Well_ , he thought to himself, _usually they don't fall in love with criminals. That's how they do it._

He took off his suit jacket and folded it over the back of the couch, untying his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. It was warm. He could go for some cognac. Like the cognac he and his robber had shared the night before. Then he remembered the glass he'd nudged under the couch. He'd never picked that up, had he? It was her glass.

He should get that.

He rounded the couch and got down on his hands and knees, shoving his hand under the couch. It was too big to fit much further than his knuckles.

"Stupid fat hand," he grumbled, realizing he'd have to move the couch.

He clambered up to his feet. Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, he pushed his hands through his hair to smooth it back again, then leaned down to grab the arm of the couch in one hand and under the bottom of it by the foot in the other hand.

With a grunt, he lifted it and scooted it along the tile a few inches, kicking out with his foot to try to hit the glass and roll it back out from under the couch. He felt his shoe make contact with something hard, and then he heard the soft rumble of the glass moving along the tile.

He spotted it making a wide circle near his feet, clear from the couch, and he set the couch down again. He slumped over the arm of the couch, smashing his face against the cushion and groaning.

He was just fine.

His heart hurt. Really terribly.

But he was fine.

Pushing himself up again with another groan, he walked over to pick up the glass she'd used for her cognac and he turned it in his fingers. Then he went over and set it next to the cognac.

He didn't want to be that person who drank because of love. Maybe just this one night, he'd be that person who drank because of love. Nobody was here to see him do it. He could be shamefully sad and negligent and immature and pouty just this once, and nobody would ever even know. They'd think, "Oh, Chuck Bartowski. He's completely fine."

Nobody would know.

Except for the person who'd just knocked on his door.

Chuck frowned in confusion, then turned on his heel to face the door. Someone had just knocked on his door. "What—?" he breathed.

She wouldn't dare. She wouldn't walk through the hotel, let herself be seen, stand on that elevator, and let the elevator boy see her walk down the hallway towards his suite. She simply wouldn't dare.

And then to call on him so formally, knocking on his door.

There was another loud knock and he moved towards it like a mosquito to a lamp, promptly hitting his knee on the table behind the couch and cursing loudly, pitching forward and nearly falling onto the floor. He caught himself and rubbed his knee, biting his lip and growling in frustration.

The knock sounded again.

"I'm coming!"

She was impatient.

And that was fine. He wouldn't blame her for it. He was impatient, too. He'd just given himself a massive bruise on his knee to prove it.

He limped the rest of the way, jogging up shallow steps to the small landing, and then he whipped the door open. "You—Oh."

A tall man with wide shoulders stood there, lifting his fist to knock again. He reeled back a bit and took his hat off of his head. "Mister Bartowski."

His heart fell to his feet and shattered. Why did he insist on doing this to himself? What was wrong with him?

"You're…oh. Yes. Hello. Who are you?"

"You're Charles Bartowski."

"I know who _I_ am. Who are _you_?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Inspector John Casey, from the American consulate in Paris. I'm investigating the robbery of the Saint-Tropez Chellequin jewelry store." He flashed a badge quickly, then shoved the badge back into the pocket of his large tan overcoat.

"I—From the consulate?"

"Yessir. The American consulate." He cleared his throat. "Mind if I come in, Mister Bartowski?"

He did. He did mind. But he couldn't exactly say that, could he? And this fellow seemed like the type to just walk in anyway, no matter what he said. So he just shook his head a bit and stepped back, opening the door. "Of course not," he added. "Did you find the robbers?"

"No. That's what happens, though, when you leave things to the Frogs," Inspector Casey said as he pushed in. He twitched his lips a bit, as though his mustache itched. And then he cleared his throat again and turned to face Chuck. "I've come to you on a matter concerning the robbery, actually. Well, the robbers. One in particular."

"One of the…robbers? I told the police everything I know about them. Descriptions and everything." Chuck rubbed the back of his head. "Though, I'm not sure I remember if this was mentioned by anyone else, but I think one of them had a bit of a limp, like something was wrong with their leg. Uh, not sure if that'll help you identify the robbers."

The inspector, who basically looked like a giant brick with a mustache and an overcoat, smirked a little, then snuffed it fast. "I see. I'll, uh, keep that in mind. A limp. Got it." He tapped his temple with a finger a bit patronizingly and Chuck just barely kept from sending the man a look for it. Why were Americans like this? "I'm actually here, Mister Bartowski, not for a description of the robbers, but because the examination of the case has taken a suspicious turn."

"Has it?" He felt himself start to sweat, and he stood up a bit straighter, feeling the alcohol starting to take effect. _Oh, no…_ "Would you care to sit down, Inspector, uh…"

"Casey."

"Inspector Casey. Apologies. Please, be my guest." He walked to the couch and fixed the pillows so that the man could sit. He hefted his hulking form down onto the couch and fixed his coat a bit. "Cognac?"

"No. Thanks." Chuck cleared his throat and sat in the chair across from the couch, holding onto the arm of the chair tightly to keep his hand from shaking when Casey continued: "It actually concerns you this time, Mister Bartowski."

"Me? Oh?"

He was proud of himself for just saying that much and having his voice stay the same pitch, no warbles or shaking.

"We've found a very valuable clue in a Saint-Tropez hotel."

"A clue? That's good news."

Inspector Casey stared in a way that made Chuck squirm. "Yes. It is. See, a young woman who was described by witnesses as strikingly beautiful…"

He paused long enough that Chuck leaned forward, lifting his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Two hours after the robbery of the Chellequin, this young woman returned to a house—strangely enough, no owners listed on the property. Wonder why that is. But the most significant piece of this is that she carried on her person a wallet. An ordinary, harmless-looking, _brown_ leather wallet."

Chuck felt the blood leave his face, but he kept his eyes fastened on the other man, pursing his lips. "A wallet. Hm. I'm not sure I understand the significance. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Sure, I forgive ya." The inspector picked a piece of lint off of his coat. "I just want to give you the full picture, see? With as many details as possible. Don't wanna leave anything out."

"I…appreciate that." Chuck scratched the back of his head. "You know what? I'm having a spot of gin. Want some?" He got to his feet and went over to pour some more gin into a glass.

"No. Thanks." The inspector was standing right behind him as he spoke, making Chuck jump. But he stayed with his back to him, sipping a bit of the gin.

"You sure? It's fantastic gin. Taken straight from a juniper—"

"This same young woman was seen again by our detective _leaving_ the house, Mister Bartowski," the inspector continued, interrupting Chuck's rambling. "She was still carrying that _brown, leather wallet_." Chuck froze. "She climbed into a car. Ofe note: the car is owned by a man named Harris Jessop who died over six years ago in a boating accident in the French Riviera. And our detective followed her as she drove…"

The long pause was excruciating. He could feel the inspector's eyes burning a hole through the back of his head and he drank some more gin. He was already buzzed, he could feel it, and it was getting worse. But still he drank. "Um, where? Where'd she go?"

"The car meandered through the streets of Saint-Tropez for about fifteen minutes, as though she was trying to throw off the scent, just in case, but then she eventually ended up parked against the brush on Rue Cavaillon," he said, mispronouncing the name. Chuck still knew the street. Because his hotel was right above it.

"That's—That's the street in front of this hotel," he said, turning to face the inspector.

"That's right, it is," he said in mock surprise. "Well, what do ya know?" Chuck didn't respond, instead setting his drink down. "The young woman climbed out of her car and went the rest of the way on foot. And then she disappeared behind _your_ hotel."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say, so he just repeated it. "Oh."

" _Your_ hotel, Mister Bartowski. Nobody else who was in the Chellequin jewelry store during the robbery yesterday is staying at this hotel. Just you, your sister, your brother-in-law." He pursed his lips, bobbing his eyebrows and folding his hands behind his back.

"Are-Are you sure? No one else?"

The inspector gave him a strained smile. "We checked a few times, just to make sure."

"Oh. I could've sworn…" He cleared his throat, sticking his hands in his pocket.

" _Your_ hotel," the inspector repeated.

"This hotel has a restaurant that makes the best lobster I've ever had in my life. She could just have a yen for perfectly steamed lobster." He felt foolish as it was coming out of his mouth, and he tried to lean his hand on the back of the couch blindly, but missed, stumbling just a little. He felt even more foolish. And he was verging on drunk.

There was an almost pitying look on the face of Inspector Casey. Chuck didn't blame him. He really didn't.

And now the fear was starting to creep up on him. This was an inspector who was sent to help the investigation by the U.S. consulate, probably because there were Americans—important Americans—who were targeted by the robbers yesterday. He was observant, smart, and trying to get information out of Chuck.

The heir felt the investigator probing, digging under the surface of his skin. He was sweating hard now.

"Our detective never saw her leave the hotel, Mister Bartowski."

"You think she booked a room here?" he asked, wide-eyed.

That got him a flat look. He ignored it.

"We think someone might have been hiding her, since there were no new guests who checked in since Tuesday morning. We made sure of that, too." Inspector Casey shrugged. "Someone might still be hiding her. Since she wasn't seen leaving, like I said."

And then he pushed past Chuck and walked to the balcony.

"What are you doing? Hey! What's the idea—?"

"I'm searching your suite." The man pushed open the balcony doors even further and stepped outside, looking around it, kneeling to search under the table, no doubt, then stepping back inside, casting his eyes about the room.

"You think she's here?! That's preposterous! Impossible! Why would I hide a criminal?" he asked, finding his voice again. He did well to keep desperation out of it. "Do you know who I am? Who my parents were?"

"I'm well aware, Mister Bartowski. But thank you for the reminder." Then he glared a little. "Why are you so frightened?"

"I'm not frightened! I'm angry!" he snapped. "But by all means, search my suite. _Again_. If it will make you lot happy. Tear my rooms apart. Flip my mattress."

The inspector made an interested face, then bowed a little. "Thank you for the permission."

"You're welcome!" Chuck sneered a bit immaturely, crossing his arms at his chest. "Why don't you check the balcony again? Or maybe under this couch?"

"I'll thank you to leave the method of search to _me_."

"Oh, by all means."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

That got him an annoyed grunt as the man strode towards the bedroom. But something must have caught his eye behind Chuck because he halted, then turned on his heel and burst past him to the table behind the couch.

"Well, would you look at this pretty bracelet…"

Chuck felt his legs nearly stop working, tingles going through him. _Oh, this is bad. Very bad._

"There's a description of this charm bracelet with the gendarmerie. This is the Reducia diamond. Only one of its kind in the world. So says the report. A report, mind you, that alleges the robbers stole this. And yet…" He turned it over in his hand. "Here it is, right here on this table."

"No, there must be a mistake. That's…another thing."

"It's late and I don't have the patience, _sir_. How did this bracelet come into your possession?"

"I…" _Found it on the floor outside of the police station?_

 _Forgot that Ellie wasn't wearing it after all and it was here all along? Funny I should forget about that. Wellllll, now you know, Inspector Sourpuss. That solves that!_

"Yes?" the inspector prompted, holding the bracelet between them.

"I found it in my safe. When I opened it. Last night. I didn't know how to go about dealing with that s-so I…just sort of…sat here thinking."

"In your safe, huh? Sounds like a pretty interesting safe you got there, Bartowski. How's about I take a look at that safe?"

"Oh, no, that's all right. I checked it already. Everything is accounted for." He saluted the inspector.

"Is the safe in your room?" He walked around Chuck and moved quickly into the bedroom.

"No, no, no. You don't need to check my safe. First of all, that's a private safe. And secondly, like I told your gendarme friend last night, nothing's been stolen from it!" He raced after the inspector and tried to block the safe, but he was easily moved to the side by one strong hand.

The inspector couldn't open it without his help.

And for a moment, he was going to resist. But that wouldn't help anything. They'd get it open eventually, somehow. So he sighed and unlocked it, stepping away and gesturing at it in annoyance. "There."

"Ahhhh…well, well, well…" The inspector went into the safe and pulled the wallet out. "This _is_ interesting. A leather wallet. A brown, leather wallet…an ordinary, harmless little wallet." He smiled pithily at the younger man and then opened it.

And that was when Chuck saw his life flash before his eyes. Because as Inspector Casey opened it and peeked inside, he gaped and pulled a few of the diamonds out.

"This I _wasn't_ expecting at all. The stolen diamonds from the Chellequin."

"Not…all of them." He rolled his eyes at himself and let out a rough breath. "I didn't put those there. Surely you can't believe I'd put those there!"

"Diamonds. In your wallet. What, did someone plant them there?" the inspector scoffed.

"Yes! That's exactly what happened!"

"You may have a perfectly acceptable explanation for why you're in possession of these diamonds, and why both the charm bracelet and wallet you reported stolen by the robbers are now miraculously here in your room. But as I'm tasked with this case, I'm afraid I will have to do my duty."

"Your duty? What's your duty? Are you taking my things? You can have the diamonds. I swear I didn't take them. I'm innocent. I don't want 'em. But the wallet and my mother's bracelet, those are mine."

"Why was your wallet in the safe?"

"I didn't put it there!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Someone else put it there? Why?"

"I…don't know." He groaned. "This all looks really bad, but I'm not lying to you, Inspector Casey."

"I'm sure you're not. Either way, I'll need you to pack a bag. Whatever you think you'll need for a night or two."

Chuck's jaw nearly fell to the floor. "A night? _Two_?" He was on the verge of hysterics. "Are you arresting me?"

"I'm taking you to a more appropriate setting for official questioning, Mister Bartowski. And I'm doing this in a much more civil way than I usually do with people in your position, because of who you are. So pack the bag."

This was terrible. He was still drunk and dizzy and didn't know what to do except follow orders. "Could you…could you just step out into the other room while I grab everything I'll need?"

"No. I think I'll stay right here. There's a sturdy-looking drainpipe beside that balcony of yours."

"What, do you think I'm going to use that to climb down four stories? I'd break my neck!"

"Maybe you would. But I'm not takin' chances." He crossed his arms and waited patiently.

Grumbling, fear cascading through him, he grabbed his small overnight bag from inside of the closet and packed for two nights, like the inspector had advised.

"Out of curiosity, Mister Bartowski," the older man was saying as he folded his clothes exceedingly poorly, his fingers clumsy with drink. "Who _did_ put all of that inside of your safe? If you didn't? Who brought you the bracelet, the wallet, the diamonds?"

The leader of the robbers, his brain said. She'd promised she would keep anything from happening to him. She said she would take care of it. And in spite of the fact that she obviously hadn't, no part of his brain, not even the hazy with alcohol part of it, told him to confess to the inspector about the leader of the robbers. His blond mystery woman. The woman he loved. It didn't even occur to him to say she somehow seemed to have an affinity for him and brought it all back for him. Even to potentially save his own skin.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder and met the inspector's eyes steadily, as steadily as he could considering how much gin he'd had.

"I don't know how they got there. I swear it."

And he turned back, swaying a bit as he went into the bathroom and gathered some of his necessary toiletries, toothbrush and paste, et cetera.

When he was finished, he stood with the bag in one hand, his suit jacket in the other. "So. Where are we going, Inspector Casey?"

"First, I'll have to take you to the home of the gendarmerie captain. And afterwards, if it's necessary, we'll go to headquarters."

"Now, this is a lot of excitement over nothing. The captain? Why not let 'em sleep? We can handle this all tomorrow."

The inspector curled his lip. "If I don't get to sleep tonight over this, nobody else does. Now let's get a move on."

"And we're just going to walk down through the lobby? What, are you putting me in handcuffs? Think of the scandal! I'm Charles Bartowski, son of—"

"Yeah, I know who ya are. I'm not putting you in cuffs. We'll just walk down together. Quietly. Nobody will even notice us."

"Everybody will notice! I've got a reputation to keep up."

"Kid, do I look like I care about your reputation? I'm trying to solve a robbery case. That takes precedence over your ego."

"Reputation and ego are two completely different things, sir."

"Tomayta, tomahta," the man said, brushing his hand through the air dismissively. "Let's go, Bartowski."

Chuck sent him a grumpy look, knowing how harmless it probably seemed to the man who wasn't just taller than him, but also built like a tank and mostly likely packing heat. "All right. But like you said, let's bring as little attention to this as possible, hm?"

"I suggest covering the bag with a coat then."

"Oh! Right! A coat. You think I'll need to wear it, though? Is it cold out—You know what? I'm not asking you that. I'm not happy with you, Inspector," he spat churlishly, huffily putting his suit jacket on, not noticing the collar twisting as he did so, then he grabbed his coat out of the closet, picked up his bag again, and covered his overnight bag, gesturing to it. "There. Now I'm ready. Lead the way."

He grumbled at the man's back as they walked out of the suite. He wasn't sure where he was going, or what would happen to him when he got there. He had no plan whatsoever. But at least he had something of his dignity.

And then he realized drunkenly that he might not even really have that much.

C'est la vie.

}o{

She was finally alone in the house.

Carina and Zondra were off tying up some loose ends in town, and for the most part, just staying away in general. She knew that their protective nature meant they'd most likely keep near the property still, just in case.

It wasn't really safe for any of them out there, what with the gendarme searching high and low for the robbers.

She'd turned on the radio after setting everything up, to ease her nerves that she hadn't been expecting, even though this was something she'd done before. She'd robbed people and stores before. She'd even robbed a few banks.

It was different this time, though, wasn't it? It was incredibly different. And maybe that was why she was nervous.

The reporter read off a news bulletin about the Chellequin robbery. Apparently the gendarmerie actually were considering bringing British and American detectives in on the investigation, which meant waiting around here would be that much more dangerous.

This wasn't her first rodeo, as it were. She knew how these news bulletins worked. Police released clues and evidence they wanted released, thinking the suspects would be out here listening. And they'd reel them in when they tried to make a mad dash for it.

That's why they put off their plan to leave tonight. Late tomorrow would be their best bet. Or maybe early the next morning, before the sunrise, they could make their way out of Saint-Tropez under the cover of darkness.

An old friend would help them get a large amount of their loot away, hidden in a fishing boat he and Jay would take a few days to pilot into Lisbon. She, Zondra, and Carina would leave from Corsica to fly to Ibiza, then to Barcelona where they would spend two days, and finally they'd go to Lisbon.

She had a house there, a big one, and it would be the perfect place to put up shop for figuring out how to go about making a profit from their loot. If she were honest with herself, she needed some time after this job. Not just time away from work, but time to just…be. Just for a while. A long while, maybe.

Sarah loved what she did. It wasn't the life she'd always wanted, not by a long shot. But it was damn fun. And she'd learned from some of the best. Between her and her team—her family—they'd managed to do this going on five years now with zero casualties. The American school of thieves was rough, violent, beat 'em up style. Jay had been like that when she'd first hired him. But thankfully, for someone who was born American, even raised on its streets the hard-knock way, she hadn't picked up on the American school. She'd escaped to Paris with a team seven years ago and she'd learned finesse and guile, wit and quickness, disguises, manipulation…

But this time, it had taken something of a toll on her.

Or maybe he'd just taken a toll on her.

In a really, really good way.

A slow smile spread over her face as she came in from the back veranda, shutting the French doors behind her and locking them for good measure.

She'd never had a job go in this direction before. She'd never _returned_ something she'd stolen. And she'd definitely never been kissed by someone she'd stolen from.

She'd never fallen in love with someone she'd stolen from.

…She'd never fallen in love period.

This wasn't the sort of career choice that left the door open for love. Romance? Certainly. Sex? Definitely. Love? And not the silly stuff in those movies she'd spent a late night here and there watching in a dark theater when she needed to lie low, but real love. The honest kind of love that…changed things, changed _you_.

And yet, it had only taken a few minutes for Charles Irving Bartowski to sneak under her skin and she knew beyond all doubt that he'd stay there. All six feet four inches of positivity and good humor and kindness and…a special brand of badness she'd never encountered before.

By all accounts, he was one of the greatest men on the planet, having come from a blessed union of genuinely good human beings who'd sacrificed themselves for America during the war… She'd read about his charitable gifts, the groups he'd started and funded to help people who were less fortunate than he was, to try to even the scales, as it were, bringing others up with him.

And then he'd flirted shamelessly with a criminal in the back room of a jewelry store while loading up a bag with rare jewelry and money. He'd practically ravished said criminal against the wall just outside of his bedroom. He'd protected her from being captured, even going so far as to lie multiple times to police. Which was not a small risk by any means.

He _was_ bad.

His kiss, the way he'd touched her, like he absolutely knew what he was doing, made her want to know a lot more about him. It made her want to stay here, to go with him, wherever he ended up going.

She didn't care.

And yet, this wasn't just about her, was it? Because he had his life, she had hers, but Casey, Carina, and Zondra all depended on her. This was a team, and they'd be affected if she just…disappeared with the man they still called the "trust fund kid".

She didn't even love him because he was rich. His money had nothing to do with the passion that flowed through her veins when she thought about him. And that surprised her. As someone who loved shiny trinkets, gold, silver, jewels, and money especially. She'd fallen in love with _him_ , not his mother's charm bracelet.

And that was why she'd given it back.

She didn't want his damn bracelet, or the almost disgusting amount of money he had to his name. She just wanted him. Why couldn't he be a waiter or a flower seller or literally anything else?

And then she smirked and poured herself a small drink: cognac, of course as she suddenly found herself liking cognac a lot more these days.

The truth was, she didn't know if she would've fallen in love with him if even the smallest thing about him was different. The way he filled out those perfectly tailored rich boy tuxedos and suits she'd seen him wear in the last two days, the way he acknowledged his privileges in life, even laughed at himself a little for it, but also had moments when he was such a typical upper class guy who'd missed out on a few street smarts lessons because he probably had people who did it for him back home. A naivety of sorts about the way of the world.

She wanted so badly to be the one to teach him, school him on the finer things this world down here had to offer him, underneath his own world of glitz and glam.

He was educated, but not highbrow. Smart, but not condescending. Incredibly clean-cut, neat, well-dressed, and she couldn't resist that face of his.

Would he be the same if he wasn't a…trust fund kid? Probably not.

She'd take him with the faults his privilege had given him. She had worse faults, after all. And the faults, the flaws, were part of what made her fall for him in the first place, weren't they?

Sarah knew she was getting ahead of herself.

She had to slow down, take a deep breath…a step back.

Because no matter what happened in the next few days, they _were_ from different worlds, and their lives wouldn't fit together very easily, no matter how well _they themselves_ fit together. She'd been draped over him on the floor for a few minutes, and that had been evidence enough… Though she wished he hadn't been so honorable and instead had dragged her to bed the way she'd wanted him to. She'd tried so hard.

Biting her lip, she took another deep breath and sipped the cognac. She checked the clock on the wall and pursed her lips. She imagined Jay would be back in a few minutes if everything went without a hitch. They were professionals who'd done this sort of thing often enough. He should be fine.

But she did worry a bit about his temper sometimes.

He didn't suffer fools well. And while tonight he wouldn't be dealing with any fools by her estimation, she never quite knew what his criteria was for who was and wasn't a fool. There was also _his_ protectiveness.

They were all protective of each other, though. And it worked well as a team dynamic.

Damn, she did wish he'd hurry. He was worried he might pick up a tail on the way back when they discussed the plan earlier, if anyone was watching the place where he was going and saw him leave with the package.

What if he had picked up a tail?

Jay would spot it, of course. He'd done this longer than she, Carina, and Zondra had put together, no doubt. But what if he had spotted it and now he was driving in circles trying to lose them, trying to figure out what to do next?

There was a part of her that was incredibly afraid of what he might do to the package of things got hairy. They'd had to ditch loot before because they were being followed or chased.

But then she heard the front door open in the other room and she beamed to herself. She snuffed out the vibrant grin and put a look of calm patience on her face instead, smoothing her hand down her dinner dress, fluffing her blond hair she wore down and curled at her shoulders, and sitting in the plush chair facing the double doors that led into the foyer.

"You're expected," she heard, and she knew Jay had done exactly what he'd been tasked to do.

The door opened then, and Jay walked in, looking almost comical with such a big smirk on his face. He'd perhaps enjoyed this too much. Oh dear, she was going to be in trouble.

Walking in behind him was Chuck Bartowski, looking one part rattled, another part angry. "I'd like to know the meaning of thi—" he was saying, but then his mouth shut so fast and hard that she heard his teeth click all the way from where she sat across the room.

"Captain," Jay said, taking his hat off and nodding his head to her.

"Inspector," she said back with a nod of her own. And then she turned her eyes back to Chuck, who stood there, frozen in place, staring at her, stunned speechless. "Hello, Chuck."

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh, we aren't playing any games anymore. Please review! Thanks!

-SC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I described this story to my friend today as: _To Catch A Thief_ but after sniffing too many Sharpies. And I really feel like that's the best way to describe it. Did I sniff Sharpies? No, not lately. But my brain is an incredibly zany place. So...same difference. My point in sharing that is that this story is a 1950s/60s caper spoof. It is ... (drumroll) supposed to be silly. It's supposed to make you laugh. Is it over the top? Yes. Did I do that on purpose? Also yes. Is it because it's fun as all hell and I'm enjoying myself? Um yeah it is. I felt like I need to make that clear because it seems like things are getting a little serious in the reviews, and in my tumblr inbox.

Thanks for the reviews, folks! They feel good.

And while I have you here, read **david . carner** 's work and read **halfachance** 's work. They are both great. Great. Great. Great.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck. I don't own the characters. I'm just here to have fun and provide free entertainment for my peoples.

* * *

"This is stupid."

"I know, Jay."

"It's foolish and unnecessary," he grumped again.

"I think it's pretty necessary, if only for my own personal amusement."

"Shut up, Carina."

Sarah smirked a little as she watched Zondra and Carina lean over Jay to apply the fake mustache over his mouth. Her team. These three people who probably all had some sort of psychological issues no one had ever diagnosed, masochists sometimes, sociopaths other times…not to mention all of the times she thought they were just outright bizarre.

And yet they were doing all of this for her.

For her happiness.

They saw she was in trouble and all three of them, even Jay, pitched in to help. She just couldn't figure out why they were helping her in this direction instead of helping her by telling her to lose the crush on the near-celebrity Bartowski heir. That was the more logical route, the route that would be the best thing—for her, for their team.

Maybe they recognized her need for there to be one last meeting, one last night. Maybe they thought she might be able to get him out of her system this way, instead of the pining she obviously wasn't doing a good job of hiding from them.

It didn't matter why they were doing it. The fact was they were doing it. And it had all been their idea. She'd been ready to let it all go.

"You really think adding a mustache is going to help him not recognize me?" Jay asked, looking incredibly grouchy about the damn mustache.

"It's a lot more inconspicuous than pasting a giant Santi Claus beard onto your face," Carina said, carefully lining up the mustache and pasting it onto Jay's lip. "And you never took your hat off during the robbery."

"It's a safe bet he was too distracted by our fearless leader over here to notice any of the rest of us," Zondra chimed in, smirking in Sarah's direction. Sarah didn't even bother blushing. It was true. Chuck hadn't exactly been subtle about keeping his eyes on her throughout the entire robbery.

As hot under the collar as it made her, as much as it made her squirm a little, she'd liked it a lot.

"Charles Bartowski, huh?" Jay asked, climbing up from the chair he'd been shoved into so that Carina could apply the mustache. "I just never figured you for a fortune hunter." He winked.

"I never figured myself for a fortune hunter, either. But look at me now." She laughed.

"It's the wrong kinda fortune for my money." He smoothed his hands down his button-up and fixed his suspenders, shrugging into a shoulder holster to look the part of the investigator. "Give me shiny baubles and stacks of American dollars any day over…that look you get in your eyes whenever you think of the trust fund kid."

"Are you ever going to stop calling him a trust fund kid?" she asked.

"No," they all responded at the same time.

She supposed that answered that.

"Oh, come on, Jay-Jay," the redhead drawled, ruffling his tie. "Don't tell me you've never been in loooove."

"I haven't. It ain't for me."

"I think he has and he's just saying he hasn't."

He glared at Zondra for that. "Ain't no point in it for an old grump like me."

"You weren't always an old grump, and on the inside you're all squishy like a cupcake," the brunette said, grinning. "Anyway, you'd never be helping us get Boss her man if you hadn't been in love before. You know it has value."

"She thinks it does," Jay said, crossing his arms to keep Carina from continuing to play with his tie. "Even if I think it don't. And anyway, I can use this opportunity to test the kid's mettle." Sarah didn't like the mischievous look on the team gunman's face.

"Excuse me?" She crossed to stand in front of him. "You won't be testing anyone's mettle. That's not the point of this plan. You are supposed to make him think he's being taken to the gendarme captain's house for questioning. I didn't say anything about testing his mettle."

"You don't wanna know if he's worth all your yennin' over him?" he asked, thrusting his hands out and shrugging.

"He is worth my…yenning," she said. "He's an incredible man and he makes Rock Hudson look like a putz." The hysterical giggle that came from Carina's mouth earned her a hard glare. "Well, we're all allowed our own opinions, anyway." Carina stopped and covered her mouth, glee still in her eyes over her hand, though. "It doesn't matter, though. It's not like I'm calling a priest over here to marry us. It's just…"

"Sex," Zondra said plainly.

This time Sarah _did_ blush. "It's not just that. You know it isn't. For once, there's a man who can actually keep up with me…"

"I mean, that remains to be seen. But I suppose you'll find out tonight." Carina's cackle was interrupted by Sarah throwing a couch pillow at her face. "Hey!"

Sarah caught the pillow as Carina threw it back at her.

"I hate this conversation more than everything," Jay growled. "I'm going."

"No, wait." Sarah rushed to him, hat in one hand, gun in the other. She handed them off to him. "Don't rough him up. I know you might want to but please…don't."

"And if he gets rough with _me_?"

She diverted her eyes and smiled a little. "He won't. Besides the fact that he's smart and knows that would be foolish—attacking an armed inspector?—he also has a reputation that's important to him, his sister, the family name."

"And yet, he's fooling around with a criminal," Zondra said. "This guy's confusing."

"Isn't he, though?" she asked, beaming. "I like that about him. So much."

"You have some screws loose, Walker," Jay grumbled.

"That's Captain Walker to you," she said, handing him his tan trench coat. "Jay…" She looked him in the eye. "John. I trust you. And be careful. And…thank you. For doing this for me."

He grunted, shrugged, then put the coat on. "Just gimme the car keys."

}o{

"You—He—You—He—But—What? Captain? But you—But he—"

Sarah bit her lip and winced, slowly rising to stand, walking a bit closer, her heels clicking quietly against the floor. "Don't worry, Chuck. I'm still the jewel thief you wrestled with in your suite last night. The captain bit was just that: a bit," she explained, taking pity on him. He just looked so confused and exhausted. And…there was something else about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it yet.

Maybe this gag was a bad idea…

But she had to get him here somehow. She shouldn't have let Carina take point on this. _Damn it._

"A bit?" he asked, turning to look at Jay as the man took the mustache off of his face and grunted in amusement. "That was a fake mustache! Oh, fffmmmfff!" He smashed his fingers against his own mouth and drummed them on his lips, shaking his head in frustration.

Sarah shrugged and tilted her head. "Was there any trouble, Jay?"

"No one else was there."

She sighed in relief. That meant Chuck's assistant Morgan hadn't witnessed his "arrest", and neither had his sister or brother-in-law. "Good."

"What kind of—?" Chuck spun to look at her, and he had to take a bit of a step to the side to keep from falling. Jay righted him again with a hand on his arm. Oh. She knew what the something else was now. "Did you have him—? I'm being kidnapped. This was a kidnapping. I'll not stand for this. Do you know who I am?"

Jay flicked his thumb at the heir. "He's been sayin' that a lot."

"What happened to him?"

"Drunk off his backside." He held his hands up in defense as she gave him a look. "Was like that when I got there."

She pulled her claws in a bit.

"Hey. I'm right here. Okay? And I am not drunk off my backside. I'm just…drunk. A little. Mind your own businesses." He turned on his heel again. "And you!" he said, pointing at her with the arm that held an overnight bag, his overcoat hanging over it and almost falling off—Oh, and there it went, slipping onto the floor. "What makes you think you can go around kidnapping people?"

"I figured that was the only way you'd come. If I simply asked, you'd probably have a big, long, sweet speech about how it'd be better to just stop while the iron's hot…"

He blinked. "Isn't it _strike_ while the iron's hot?"

"It is. But I made up _stop_ while the iron's hot, because the iron's definitely hot right now and I could absolutely see you wanting to end this because it's quote, for the best, unquote."

He shook his head, licking his lips. "No, no. See, I wouldn't make up a phrase like that. You got me all wrong, fascinating mystery woman."

"Do I have to be here anymore—?" Jay asked, taking his hat off, but then he looked to the side and a look of absolute amusement came over his face. He even chuckled.

"What?" she asked, following his gaze to see the small table she set up with a tablecloth, two chairs, and a lit candle in the middle. There was also a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"C and Z were on my heels when I ducked outta here to arrest trust fund over here—"

"Hey!"

"And that means that, uh… _you_ did that," he continued, ignoring Chuck's interruption. He seemed tickled pink.

She blushed and switched her weight to her other foot, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I did. And so what?"

He just kept chuckling. "This wasn't discussed at all in our plans, Boss. You romantic."

"Get out of here," she said, crossing the room and pushing him out into the entryway. "Go. Make yourself scarce."

He bowed mockingly, then eyed Chuck, the amusement leaving his face. "Listen, kid. I may not be in the house tonight, but I'll be around. And if you try anythin', I'll personally pluck your eyeballs outta your head and play nine holes with 'em."

Chuck looked stricken for a moment. And then he narrowed his eyes and curled his lip. "My eyes aren't big enough to make playing golf with 'em any fun, so joke's on you, ya fake."

Sarah choked a bit at the look on Jay's face. It was confused and speechless, all at once. She covered her mouth with her hand, pressing her fingers to her lips to keep the laughter in.

Jay just shook his head, his brow furrowed as he tried his hardest to figure out what he was looking at exactly. "Yeah, well…good luck with _that_ ," he said, pointing at Chuck as he looked at her. He spun his hat in his hand as he backed towards the front door.

"Good luck with…" Chuck stopped, holding up his finger. "Oh, it's gone. I had a really fantastic comeback but it's gone. Just _poof_." He scratched the back of his head.

She was positively dying, he was so damn cute.

"Jesus," Jay breathed, shaking his head again. Then he stopped, his hand on the door. "Hey Boss. Just for the record? I gave him a way to keep himself out of the clinker, and it involved throwin' you under." He shrugged. "He didn't take it. Didn't even pause. Just let the opportunity pass. Thought you'd like to know."

He was gone then, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sarah just stared after him, her heart racing. He'd apparently given Chuck a test—a test of his mettle, as it were—and Chuck had passed. With flying colors. Even staring down a police investigator, knowing the potential there was of him being arrested.

Chuck pointed at the door so fast she nearly jumped. "He—! He did that to trap me! He was trying to make me give you up to the police!" He turned his head to look at her, eyes wide. "Or, I suppose, _not_ the police. Because he isn't actually an investigator." He frowned then, worry in his face. "You're sure he isn't an investigator, though? Have you done a background check on that guy? He was very convincing." He licked his lips again. "Though, I'm admittedly not in—I've been drinking."

"Yes, we had that conversation." Warmth spread through her as she reached up to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him back into the room where she'd waited for him for what had felt like all night. "What are you doin', Charles Irving Bartowski? Drinking so much, and alone to boot…"

He frowned deeply, one hand coming up to cup her elbow, and she shivered at even that simple touch, it was so gentle and so intimate all at once. In spite of being drunk, his eyes were still so deliciously golden and tender.

"I drank because I didn't think I'd ever see you again." He scoffed. "The drink's loosened my tongue. I never would've admitted that otherwise. I was trying to be a strong, realistic, sensible…" He gulped. "…pragmatic person. It's for the best, you know, my never seeing her again." Chuck pulled his shoulders back. "It's for the best, ol' sport. We're from two different walks of life. You're an heir in the public eye, she's a jewel thief who could never…" Then he deflated a bit, squeezing her arm. "But then I kept filling up my glass with gin, because no matter how many words I tried to use to feel like your leaving and not coming back was _for the best_ , I felt like garbage. In my insides." He let go of her and pointed to his chest. "Right here."

How did she even respond to that? He was touching her in one spot, where he clutched her elbow, and she melted into his hand, leaning into him so that their chests were pressed together. She found herself nearly bursting as she slid her hand up to stroke his jaw, her thumb swiping over his cheek as she looked into his eyes. "You got smashed because you were sad? About me? About never seeing me again?"

"Yes." He winced. "I just…had this feeling, after the gendarme left last night and I couldn't find you anywhere in my bedroom. I thought that was it. And I—I was all right about it." Chuck huffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm such a liar. I wasn't all right about it. That's why I'm drank. Drunk. I drank and _now_ I'm drunk. I'm a mess, enigmatic robber woman. A complete mess. Why did you do all of this? Why did you kidnap me? Have that scary man test me and then bring me here? Why did you even want to see me again? I'm a complete and utter wreck of a man."

She smiled quietly and slid her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight, burying her face in his neck and just clinging for at least half a minute or more. She felt him return the embrace eventually and she sighed heavily.

When she pulled back, she smiled a bit harder. "I think you're simply wonderful."

His eyebrows popped. "Right now? I'm a complete idiot at the moment. I've been an idiot through all of this. I mean, what even _is this_? Do you know? I don't know. I ate dinner with my family and they invited me to go dancing and there is no way in ten thousand years you'd ever get me to go watch my brother-in-law try to do the cha-cha so I said no to that!" She giggled, so charmed by him at the moment, so enthralled by everything about him, that she didn't even know what to do except let him just go and watch it happen. He was so chatty when he was drunk, and it was too adorable.

"They left and Morgan is on a date right now. Probably. Maybe. It depends on how long he was able to keep from saying 'Klaatu barada nikto' to her. And then something about her beauty bringing him back to life." Sarah blinked in confusion. "He thinks it's a great pick-up line, super romantic. And nine times out of ten, it fails." She was so confused. "No, actually I'd bump that down to fourteen times out of fifteen, it fails. It always fails. It's never not failed."

"What?"

"Hm?" He shook himself. "Oh. It's an alien language from _The Day the Earth Stood Still_. Did you see it?"

"I…don't think so."

"Morgan and I paid to see it fifteen times. Practically have it memorized." Then he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "None of this matters. I don't even know what I'm—Oh. Oh, yeah. I had a lot of gin." He swallowed thickly and blinked at her.

"I know." She stroked his face. "You're so cute. I don't know half of what you're saying right now because apparently some of it has been in an alien language, but you really are _so_ cute."

"Th-Thank you?" He furrowed his brow. "The point—and I do have one, somewhere—is that I drank a lot of gin because I was upset. And I was going to…" She started walking him further into the room, towards the table she'd found in the attic and lugged down for this occasion. "I was going to just get absolutely high off gin, fall into bed, sleep, and then tomorrow I'd…" He stopped in the middle of the room and she was forced to stop with him. "Tomorrow I'd…"

"What, Chuck?"

"Well, eat breakfast I suppose."

She giggled.

"You made this table for me," he breathed then, going to it and putting his hand on it.

"Uh…I didn't _make it_ , no. That would've taken me quite some time and I wouldn't know a saw from a screwdriver," she teased.

"You know what I mean," he groused, a pout on his face.

"I do," she giggled. "And, um…yes, I set this up."

"For me?" he asked dreamily.

"Well, I didn't do it for the second coming of Jesus Christ, Chuck."

"Ha!" He turned and grinned at her. "You're so clever. You say genuinely funny things and lovely snappy sharp-witted things and I love your mouth. It's so beautiful when it moves and your voice is so pretty, it's all just…so marvelous. You're marvelous."

She couldn't help how soft he made her feel. But the way he was rambling, spouting a mixture of inane strange things and truly sweet and poetic, beautiful things, made her insides feel like clouds. Or better yet, like satin sheets. "Thank you," she said quietly, biting her cheek to keep from beaming too hard.

Then he distractedly glanced down at his hand that still held the overnight bag and his eyes popped. "I'm still holding my overnight bag. I—Waaaaaaait…" He slowly lifted his eyes to hers, one side of his mouth tilting up. "An overnight bag, ehhhh? I thought I was going to jail, but this is infinitely better."

He tilted towards her, his lips pursed, and she bit her own lip to keep from laughing at him. She wasn't sure he'd appreciate it if she did. So instead, she put her finger on his mouth to stop him and he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Mhm…that bag's going to end up in the bedroom," she said, purposely speaking slowly, her words dripping from her tongue like honey.

"I know what that meeeaans…"

This time she had to laugh at the goofy look on his face. At least being drunk meant he wasn't as flustered and anti-sex. But as he leaned in again to kiss her, she let him this time. She knew she couldn't let it progress much further than that. Not yet. So she pulled back. "You're lucky I like gin," she said, patting his cheek. "Put your bag down."

"Where's the bedroom?" He looked over his shoulder, then moved towards the door, but she reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding him back.

"We aren't doing that yet. Just set it there," she pointed towards the couch. He gave her a sweetly befuddled look. "I could take you up to the bedroom to put your bag down, but that's a lot of steps for a man in your condition, first of all, and secondly, I'm not sure we'd make it back out again."

He was still befuddled. "But why's that bad? Isn't that why you kidnapped me?"

She blushed. "All right, I don't know what's wrong with you people, but that wasn't the only reason. What sort of a person do you think I am? Some kind of a sex fiend?" He became flustered, trying to walk back his question and she laughed, putting her hands on his chest. "I'm teasing you, rich boy. I don't know what happens tomorrow, but I…think I know what I want tonight. And you aren't wrong about it."

He grinned, excitement lighting his face, and she clasped her hands in front of her face, giggling at how adorably expressive he was, not even bothering to hold back his anticipation. And as he backed towards the couch, she reached out and winced, trying to warn him with a "Chuck", but it was too late. The backs of his knees bumped the table next to the couch.

"Whooaa!"

He flailed, managing to save the lamp from tipping and falling to the floor, but still ending up flat on his back behind the couch, his eyes wide in surprise. As she pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from laughing, she crossed to his side and leaned down to help him up. Her heart melted at the offended look he gave the table, straightening himself out a bit. She finally fixed the collar of his suit jacket for him, as she'd noticed it was twisted when he first slumped in after Jay.

"All right, I'm making coffee. I thought red wine would be nice, but we're not doing that."

"Oh, no. I'm already drunk."

"Yes, I know," she giggled. "Coffee and water."

"I'm not _that_ drunk," Chuck argued as she took his hand and walked him into the kitchen. "I mean, I am drunk but I'm not—"

"Tell that to someone who didn't just see you trip over a table and land on your backside."

"I have news for _you_ , incredible mystery woman! I've done that numerous times while sober."

"Have you had your eyes checked lately?"

He laughed, and spun her back so that she crashed into his side. He slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her in close. "God, I like you a lot. You know, I think I might even love you and that isn't the gin talking. That's me. All me."

She couldn't resist. She slid her arms up and around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He clumsily walked towards her, making her gasp into his lips and moving back until she felt herself bump into the kitchen counter. She squeaked and giggled, pulling back a bit, but he just took the opportunity to start nibbling at her jaw. And when his lips dragged to her neck, she felt that delicious stream of desire awaken in her midsection, trickling out to fill the rest of her body.

Sarah put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back a good foot, taking a deep breath and smirking. "Coffee," she said steadily, looking at him through her eyelashes.

He bit his lip and shut his eyes and then his chin slumped to his chest and he sighed.

"I'm just making sure you're at one hundred percent, Chuck. Even if you are functioning at maybe seventy percent." She slid a hand over the back of his neck and rubbed as he lifted his gaze to hers. "Because if I'm going to proposition you—and I definitely am—you're going to be fully sober for it."

He straightened up, his jaw clenching. "Make that coffee."

Sarah laughed, pulling away and getting the coffee started. He even went so far as to start opening cupboards looking for mugs most likely. But then he opened one before she could tell him where they were and he froze. She knew why immediately.

They'd stashed some of their stolen goods in that cupboard.

Chuck reached in and came away with a necklace—gold chain and large diamond set into the pendant. He just stared at it for a while, and she poured the water into the machine, staring at him. "Did you forget for a moment who I am?" She paused. " _What_ I am?"

"I…did. But you know it doesn't change anything."

"Not tonight it doesn't," she said. "But tomor—"

"Tonight it doesn't matter," he said, cutting her off. He met her gaze from a few feet away, his voice steady, eyes serious. She took the hint. One corner of her mouth tilted up a bit, but she couldn't smile totally. A bit of melancholy had caught her up.

She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Jay, Carina, and Zondra had bought them one night. Just one night, for now. She turned on the machine and took a deep breath. She was taking advantage of this opportunity. Once she got this man sobered up. Even before she got him sobered up.

Crossing to his side, she opened the next cupboard over to get mugs out.

"Can you hand me one of the water glasses?" he asked. She gave him a curious look but gave him a water glass, which he promptly filled from the sink. "Listen, if we're sobering me up, I'll need plenty of this stuff, too."

She laughed. "Good thinking."

"You wanna know the last time I drank like this?"

Sarah stepped around him to wait by the machine as it brewed their late-night coffee. "Well, considering your reputation, I'd say last week."

He sniffed in amusement. "I wish that was the case. But, uh, I don't get out at night as much as the tabs say I do." She must have looked at him funny because he felt the need to explain, "Morgan—my assistant and best friend—calls the tabloids the, quote, No-Good Dirty Tabs, unquote."

Leaning against the counter with a smirk, she bobbed her eyebrows. "Seems apropos."

"It's perfect, really. And I let them have it, because why not? I wouldn't be the first wild and crazy playboy heir. Or, as your guy likes to say it: trust fund kid." He ruffled his own hair, taking a few long gulps of water. "He ain't wrong," he said, shrugging.

"Maybe he isn't, but you're not…"

"What? A snobbish, entitled ass? I'm not sure everyone would agree with you, there." He grinned. "You know, I'm on vacation. Some might say I'm different when I'm not on vacation."

She eyed him closely. "I'm not sure I believe you. In fact, I know I _don't_ believe you."

"Why?" He moved closer. "I mean how. How would you even know that, Imelda? Joan? Irene? Gwendolyn?"

She giggled and shook her head. "No to all four."

"Quadruple damn."

She laughed. "And I just know, Chuck."

"After two days? You made eyes at me over a craps table, danced with me for a few minutes before disappearing into thin air, then robbed a jewelry store I happened to be in for about fifteen minutes at the most. Then there was all that kissing last night. And that's it. And somehow you know me, know who I am, _how_ I am?" He shook his head. "I don't understand how that's even possible."

"I just know." She bit her lip and then shook her head. "I've learned to trust my gut being in this business for so long. And my gut knows you're…" She shrugged. "You're just a good one, Bartowski. Through and through."

"You don't know that for sure, and yet you're trusting me here, alone, with you. You're letting me see where you're hiding out with your team. All based on what little we've shared over the past few days." He shook his head in awe.

But Sarah twisted her fist in the lapel of his jacket and looked him in his brown eyes. Hard. She leaned up onto her tip toes and stared him down. "We've shared more in the last two days than ninety percent of married couples these days share in a lifetime, and you know it, Chuck Bartowski. You know it. You feel it, too. I know you do." Her throat constricted so she didn't say anything else.

"You're right. We have. And I know this is different, as hard as it is. The kind of different that makes almost anything worth it."

Lord help her but he had an incredible knack for words. She melted, and then shook herself a bit. "Chuck, please don't question this. Don't question me. Yourself. Us. Please don't. We have tonight. Don't waste it with deep questions and second-guessing. Please. Let's use tonight to have fun. Me and you. No jewelry store, jewels, baubles…"

"Oh. Except for these." He went into his pocket retrieved his wallet, opening it and letting the diamonds spill out onto the counter.

Her eyes popped and she chuckled, shaking her head at him with so much affection, not even bothering to disguise it or guard herself. "Drink some more water," she admonished, smirking as he widened his eyes, pressed his lips together, and raised the glass to his mouth to drink. "And please, can we just…enjoy this? We're away from everyone else. Safe."

"All right," he said, setting his glass down with a loud clink. "Fun. Yes." His hands were on her hips then, pulling her in close, and she immediately thought he was going to seduce her right then and there.

And while that was also her idea of fun…

"Whoa there, rich boy…"

"Hm?" He pulled back to look down at her and furrowed his brow quizzically. "O-Oh! No, I…I was just trying to dance with you in the kitchen," he said, pretending to be offended. "I was dancing!" he belted. And then he swayed back and forth with her with less finesse than he had two nights ago.

"Oh!" She laughed. "I misread completely."

"Not completely," he murmured, smoldering. "Dancing is just one or two steps away from…" He paused. "…well."

Sarah understood him completely. "A-ha! An ulterior motive. That's why you want to dance with me."

He threw his head back and laughed, and then he leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, his lips moving in to grace the tip of her nose. It was the sweetest, and dare she think it, most intimate thing anyone had ever done in her entire life. His brow furrowed and he held her in a way that was somehow even more tender than it'd been before.

"No," he breathed. "I really just want to dance with the woman I'm mad about."

And when he took advantage of how hard that rocked her, making her freeze, speechless, starting to dance with her to the bubbling and gurgling of the brewing coffee beside them, she let him pull her in closer. But then she snapped out of it a bit, shaking herself. She didn't move away from him, though, or stop his rhythmless dancing (obviously the gin was doing that).

Instead, she said, "Why don't we go in the other room and I can put a record on? Seems more…appropriate than dancing to the sounds of a coffee machine."

"Oooo!" He stepped back and snapped his fingers, then grabbed her hand to lead the way.

But she stopped him and pulled back, grabbing the pot that finished brewing finally, and poured some into each mug.

"You need to drink some coffee first, though. Seriously."

"Coffee first. Got it. Coffee."

Chuck took a mug and before she could stop him, he burned his mouth and winced, pulling it away. "Ah! S'hot. Ow…oh."

"That's gonna be hot there, sport."

"Mm hmm," he whimpered, pressing his fingers to his lips and making a pitiful face.

She shook her head and grabbed him on either side of his face, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Fine, we'll dance while the coffee cools, but I don't want you falling over and hitting your head. You got me?"

"I don't got you," he breathed. "But oh how I want to got you. So damn bad it hurts." He winced. "Hence all the gin…"

Sarah bit her lip and took a slow, deep breath, that desire pooling in her center again. "I want you, too. More than anything." He went in for a kiss and she dodged away from it, tugging him through to the living room where the record player and records were. "But first…we dance."

}o{

He was in such trouble.

She had a way of sliding her fingers between his curls at the back of his head and making eye contact at the same time. His body was still buzzing from the alcohol, but his brain was less fuzzy. So while her touch was invigorating and exciting, the eye contact even more so, more than anything, he was trying to come to terms with this situation.

"You had me kidnapped," he murmured after a good half an hour of dancing with his jewel robber.

"Sorry," she breathed, shrugging one shoulder cutely.

"I don't think you are."

"Are you?"

"No," he said, smiling a little.

"I didn't think so," she drawled with a smirk. She readjusted her hand in his and twisted one of his curls around her finger on the hand she had buried in his hair. It made him shiver and she must have felt it because she smirked a bit harder.

"If I'd known I was going to end up here tonight, I wouldn't have had so many martinis." He made a face. "Though they don't really count as martinis, really. I just poured gin into a martini glass over and over and ate a lot of olives. I lost count."

"Of the gin or the olives?"

He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Then nodded. "Yes."

She laughed and he grinned down at her.

Yes, he was in trouble.

The kind of trouble that made him feel like he had jet engine fuel in his veins instead of blood. Even in a quiet moment like this, the music soft and slow, some Benny Goodman record she'd put on, he felt adrenaline pumping through him. Usually, drinking made him drag once he started to sober up. He became tired and lazy, especially if he was all-out drunk.

He didn't know if it was her, or the situation he was in, or both, but he wasn't tired. He wasn't feeling lazy. He wanted to run through the house, kick open the door, and sprint all the way down to the ocean, feel the sand between his toes, the cool water dancing at his ankles.

The record ended with a soft _whirrrrr click whirrrr click whirrrr click_ and they stopped swaying, breaking eye contact finally. She turned to look over her shoulder at the record player. "I should go put on another record, huh?"

"We could both go. Watch."

He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and hoisted her up against him so that her feet were off the ground. She yelped and giggled as he easily carried her over to the record player, then set her down again.

"Are you thinking more a singer? American standards? Big band? Jazz? Sinatra or Miles Davis?"

"There are only four records," she said, chuckling, a big smile on her face as she peered up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes.

"Ah. So there are." He reached around her, snuggling up against her body as he carefully fixed the needle back into its cradle to stop the player. "It's nice and cool outside," he said. "Can we walk together out there? Or…are you…?" He furrowed his brow, unconsciously tightening his arm around her protectively. "They're looking for you, no doubt. It might not be safe. We should stay in the house, probably."

Her eyes sparkled as she shook her head. "They are looking for a pretty blonde."

"Mhm, and that's you to a tee. Although, you're more of a breathtakingly stunning blonde than a pretty blonde, so maybe you'd be all right."

She grinned. "You're quite the charmer."

"You're easy to be charming about."

Sliding her arms up and around his shoulders, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and gave him a slow smile. "Let's go outside. I'll be just fine. They probably think we've left the country by now, or are hiding in an apartment down the hill, another hotel…They'd never expect me to be out and about with a beau." He laughed, in spite of the seriousness of the subject. "What?" she chuckled, furrowing her brow.

"Am I your beau? Or are you trying to call me a fop?"

This time, she laughed. "You could be the richest man on Earth, Charles Bartowski, and I don't think that would even turn you into a fop."

"As it is, I'm pretty rich." He shrugged in faux modesty, earning a giggle. "Preeeetty rich. And I've got a butler."

"A _butler_?" She gasped, putting a hand on the side of her face in pretend shock. "Be still my beating heart. How can I resist a man with a butler?"

"So then you _are_ telling me that I'm your beau," he reiterated, pressing his forehead to hers.

Her eyes shut for a few moments and the quiet smile on her face dimmed a little before she opened her eyes again. "For tonight."

That stung, and it must have shown on his face because she gave him an apologetic look. "Just tonight?" he asked, after a few moments of inwardly fighting with himself over asking. He didn't think he'd like the answer.

If he got an answer.

And he didn't.

At least, not a verbal one. He just saw a pained look in her eye as she diverted her gaze, and she swallowed hard. And then she nibbled on her bottom lip and pulled him in closer, pushing her face into the lapel of his jacket.

"Let's walk outside. We don't have to go far. Or we can…if we want to," she breathed, clinging.

"Go far…as in…just keep walking, and walking, and walking…and as the sun starts to come up, we just keep walking…and end up in…I don't know, Nice or somewhere? Or we just…disappear, the two of us? Is that what you mean?" He clung back.

"Maybe that's what I mean," she whispered. "We can't."

"I wish we could."

"Fun!" she chirped then, pulling back and putting her hands on either side of his face. She smiled. "We told one another that tonight is about us and having fun. Enjoying the moment. Let's go. I have an idea…"

He let her take his hand and lead him through the house, to the back door that went out onto an unkempt but lovely patio. Chuck noticed as they walked through the yard that there was a small shed or a hut, like a gardener's cottage in the back corner of the property, the light from inside shining out from under the door and the small window. He figured "Inspector Casey", or Jay he supposed, was there… overseeing this operation, perhaps, on hand in case his boss needed him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him as they reached the back gate.

"Sobering up mighty quick now that I'm in the cold night air. Though we've wasted the coffee you made. I had one sip and it absolutely decimated the inside of my mouth."

She giggled, holding the gate for him to go through first. She followed after him and slid her hand in his as she silently shut the gate again, leading him along the back wall until they found a small, paved path that led into a clump of trees. "I'm sorry about that. I hope it doesn't affect your kissing abilities."

His eyebrows popped up to his hairline. "Oh, trust me, where you're concerned, I could land face-first in a campfire and I'd still try my damnedest to kiss you to within an inch of your life."

"Why you wait to say something like that until we're out where people might see us, I simply don't know. If you'd said that inside, we'd be halfway to my bedroom by now."

Chuck's feet stopped working and he just stood still, pulling her arm back a bit as she spun to face him, a secret look on her face. "Maybe if we hurry, we could go back and…" He shrugged instead of finishing his sentence.

"Oh, we will. Trust me, rich boy. I'm not letting you get away without _that_ happening."

He didn't know how it was possible for one sentence to both make him feel like fire was roaring behind his belly button and make him upset all at once. _I'm not letting you get away without…_

But she was going to let him get away. And he was letting _her_ get away. Eventually. That was how it had to be. For some damn reason.

It went unsaid but it still felt like a dark cloud hanging over him.

Instead of letting it overtake him, he just followed his enigmatic robber woman further into the trees.

"I've read horror stories that start this way. Being led down a dark path into the trees at night…"

"Are you afraid of me?" she asked, looking at him closely.

"Not a bit." He cleared his throat. "Not like I was when you held a gun on me."

"Sorry about that," she said with a wince. "It's part of the job, to make us look intimidating."

"You don't need a gun to be intimidating. Then again, I found you sexy more than I found you intimidating, and every moment I spend with you makes it that much worse."

"Or _better_ …at least from where I'm standing."

He grinned at her and squeezed her hand.

"I think it's just through here," she murmured, almost to herself. They came to a small fork in the road and she stopped, a thoughtful look on her face. "Oh. I don't remember this. I might be…" She cleared he throat. "Perhaps it's harder to find at night."

"Are you lost?" he asked, surprised.

"No, not lost, just…slightly turned around."

Chuck laughed. "Well, there's nobody else in the whole world I'd rather be lost with than you." She glared. "There's nobody else in the whole world I'd rather be slightly turned around with than you."

"That's better," she giggled. "No, it's all right. I think I know. I remember this rock here."

"I'm impressed. All rocks look the same to me."

She snorted. "That's the richest thing I've heard you say yet."

"That's because you've only known me for two days. Imagine what I'll come up with at two weeks, two months…" He kept his eyes on her face as she kept leading him along the left path of the fork. "Two years. Two decades."

"Getting ahead of yourself there, rich boy," she said quietly.

"It's what I do, sadly." He chewed on his lip, and when she turned to look at him, he beamed cheekily. "I'm afraid I'm too used to getting whatever I want. It's part of who I am."

"No, it isn't," she said, as though she was completely sure she was right, as though she knew him better than anyone else did. "I know that's not true."

He sighed. "It isn't."

She smiled, probably at how easily he conceded. "I know. That's how you should be. Or I suppose how you _could_ be, considering how so many other rich men I've met are."

"Meet a lot of rich men?"

"In my line of work? Of course. But don't worry. None of them got this far."

"How far is _this far_?" he asked sincerely. "Just so I can have a frame of reference."

"Not quite as far as you're gonna get by the time all this is over."

And then she led him into a clearing as his heart raced so madly he thought it might beat right out of his chest and fall to the floor at their feet. He didn't look anywhere but at her, though, as she stopped them, looking out at…he didn't know what. He only had eyes for her. "Does it have to be over, though?" he asked. "What if it doesn't? What if we don't end it? What if this isn't it? I know we said we weren't talking like this tonight, that we were just going to enjoy the moment…but…"

She turned and looked at him softly, pushing some of the sweet, blond locks that blew in front of her eyes away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Chuck, look…" She tilted her head to his right, a kind and adoring softness in her beautiful features.

A little frustrated at her non-answer, he turned to look and he found himself genuinely gasping.

The French Riviera stretched out towards their right down below, the Gulfe de Saint-Tropez to the left. The lights of Sainte-Maxime's homes glittered on the hills, and rolled out towards the sea, ending at the Pointe des Sardinaux. He could see the faint outline of it, in spite of the late night clouds that had rolled in to block most of the moonlight. "I've seen many a beautiful place, being…who I am," he breathed. "I've run off to so many cities with views quite like this, escapes with an oceanic landscape, rolling hills in the other direction…"

"Oh, well I'm sorry I couldn't show you something more beautiful than this," she teased.

He chuckled and turned towards her, noticing how she was hugging herself in the suddenly chilly night air. Without thinking about it, he shrugged his suit jacket off and held it up for her to put her arms in the sleeves. She gave him a grateful look over her shoulder as she pulled it tight around her.

"That wasn't what I was going to say at all. This is the most beautiful place I've ever been." She raised an eyebrow at him. "No, really. It is. But you ruined the full effect of what I was meaning to say by interrupting with your trademark sarcasm." She laughed, teasingly affronted as he smirked and winked. "I was going to say you weren't with me at any of those other places, but you're here now, and…well, now it's the most beautiful place I've ever been."

"Mmm. You're right. It's ruined," she quipped, wrinkling her nose.

He barked out a laugh and tugged her in against him, holding her tight and leaning down to kiss her warmly. Her arms went around his neck and she pulled him in even closer, kissing him harder.

The stayed that way for some time, enjoying the cool breeze and each other. If he wasn't so distracted, Chuck would have noticed the distant rumbling sound. He _was_ distracted—very much so—and that was why he was surprised when he felt something wet smack into his hand. And then another on his hand…then something on his head, his ear…his hand again.

By the time he realized what was happening, a gentle drizzle had started. He reluctantly pulled back and grinned down at her, laughing outright when a large drop splattered on Sarah's cheek. She made a cute, " _Eep_ " sound, twisted he features into an offended look, and gazed up at the sky.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, no. I hadn't even thought of the clouds and how quickly they moved in. It's going to rain. We need to go."

He just laughed some more as she grabbed his arm in a strong grip and moved back down the path.

A few minutes later, they emerged from the trees to a downpour, both of them moving fast. One of her heels popped off and she yelped, the other coming off right after. "No!"

"I've got 'em! Keep going!" he yelled. "Go on without me! Go! Gooo!"

She cackled at his dramatics and kept running in her stocking-covered feet as he went back to retrieve first one heel, then the other. He tucked them both under his arm and hurried after her. As he rounded the corner, he saw that she was already standing behind the wrought-iron gate, her hands curled around the bars, just watching him happily as the rain came down.

As he slid to a stop, he felt a rush of gratefulness and happiness, the melancholy from earlier shoved right out of his mind. He wasn't worried about tomorrow, or the days after tomorrow. He wasn't dwelling.

He was looking at the most beautiful woman in the world, he hair darker now that it was wet and clinging to her face and neck, clad in his suit jacket that was much too big for her, the sleeves going just past her knuckles, her blue eyes shining so bright in the darkness as she peered at him from behind the gate. God, that mischievous look on her face, too. Like she wasn't going to let him back in.

Chuck Bartowski was so in love in that moment that he thought he might just fall into a pile of limbs and stay there grinning, blinking up at the heavy rain, like a damn madman.

From where he was standing, the sun was shining all over the place. Something hit him then and he beamed at her.

And out of nowhere, he heard his own voice: "Doodle doo doo doooo dee doodle doo doodle doo dee…" He paused dramatically, about a dozen feet away from the gate. And then he belted, "I'm siiiiiiiingin' in the raaaaaain, just siiiiiiiingin' in the raaaain! What a gloooooorious feeeeeeelin', I'm haaaappy agaaaaiiinnn…" He found a small road sign at the edge of the walk and jumped up onto it, grabbing hold with the hand that wasn't carrying her high heels and hanging off. "I'm laaaughin' at merrrrr la laaaaa I don't know the worrrrds." He heard her laughter. "I ooooonly saw this once—only once—because Ellie made meeeee! Siiiiingin' in the—"

"Chuck! Psst! Chuck stop!"

He opened his eyes and followed her gaze. A gendarme had just turned the corner at the end of the block and was walking towards him. He hopped down off the sign quickly and stuffed her heels down the back of his pants far enough that they wouldn't fall or be seen, and then he cleared his throat and crossed his arms. When he saw Sarah still stood at the gate, he reached out and gave her a gentle push. "Hide," he breathed. "Get out of sight." She was worried as she shook her head. "Go," he hissed. "Trust me."

She looked like it was the last thing on Earth she wanted to do, but she ducked away from the gate, into the shadows. He couldn't see her anymore. And he knew he couldn't follow. He'd already be seen, and if he disappeared into this yard now, the gendarme might wish to investigate the situation. There was too much incriminating evidence—like stolen jewelry, for instance—that would implicate them. And it would all be because of him.

Chuck wasn't letting that happen.

He cleared his throat and tipped his head to the approaching gendarme, dripping wet, hoping the rain, the clouds, and the fact that the nearest streetlamp that was across the way would do enough to disguise him.

"Good evening, Officer," he said, making his American accent more pronounced.

"You are American?" the rather squat gendarme asked.

"Yes…er, oui."

"What are you doing out at zis late hour?" he asked.

"My wife and I were walking…" Dear God, he hoped his robber had gone all the way back inside and hadn't heard that. "We do that late at night when we both can't sleep. Afraid we didn't realize there were clouds. They opened up. We ran. She lost her heels. I made sure she got back to our hotel and ran back out here to find her heels."

It was the best he could do at such short notice. It made it so that he didn't have to hide the high heels, and it gave him an excuse for not having his jacket on him. Of course he gave it to his wife.

The gendarme looked surly for a moment…

And then he broke into a loud, jolly bout of laughter. He leaned over, his hands on his knees, shaking his head, and then he straightened up again and shifted the umbrella to cover Chuck's head as well.

"Zere you are, Monsieur. A moment's…eh, how you say? Respite…from ze rain. My wife wishes she had a husband like you."

"Oh. Haha ha…ha. Yes, well…Thank you…for the…" He gestured up at the umbrella, then reached back and took the heels out, chuckling again. "I'll be headed back now…"

"Of course, Monsieur. Be careful out here. Tourists—Americans especially—are very vulnerable to criminals. Pickpockets…robbers…"

"Ah…yes, thank you," Chuck said, biting his cheek to keep his amusement at bay. "Don't want to run into any robbers. I'll hurry back. Thank you. Merci," he said in the man's own language. And then he moved down the sidewalk towards the front of the house. He couldn't very well use the same back gate while the gendarme was there.

He rushed down the sidewalk, seeing that the gendarme hadn't even stopped to watch him leave, as well as he'd sold his truly terrible story, and then he burst around the corner to the front, grabbing the fence, leaping over it as gracefully as he was capable of, and rushed up the steps onto the porch.

The door opened the moment he got to it and his very own robber stood there, soaked to the bone, her dress clinging, sopping wet, dripping, her feet in muddy stockings, makeup running. The worry was gone, and instead she was grinning like a madwoman as she slung his suit jacket she'd shrugged off at some point over her shoulder jauntily.

He held up her heels. "Cinderella…"

"Prince Charming…"

Chuck found her fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. She yanked him in and he staggered into her. She smashed her lips against his and he distantly heard the door slam.

He rounded her strong body with his arms, fisting the wet fabric of her dress so that she made a breathy whimpering sound against his lips. And as they pulled back for air, he meant to say something about being fully sober now when she spoke first, her voice dripping in need.

"You're wonderful." She kissed him again. "You're so wonderful," she panted against his lips, her words a bit muffled by the kiss. "And so clever…"

"Did you hear all of that?"

"Every last bit of it," she giggled, dropping his jacket and tugging his wet button-up and the undershirt beneath it out of his pants. He felt her cold, damp hands against the bare skin of his torso and he tensed, gasping. "I was ready to grab Jay and come out to rescue you…"

He chuckled and shook his head, kissing her back hungrily. "I believe you," he panted, crushing her body against his.

"I need you."

He groaned inwardly, just managing to bite back an outward one.

"You have me," he rasped as they broke apart for air again.

"Not yet," she murmured, cupping his face, biting her lip, and meeting his gaze, her eyes flashing. "But I will."

His whole body roared to life, fire licking at his ankles, moving higher, climbing up his legs…engulfing his entire form.

She snagged his tie and used it to pull him after her. He just managed to snag his jacket off the floor and let her pull up the stairs, down a long hallway, and into a small bedroom. But the size of the bedroom didn't matter. Nothing in the bedroom mattered except for the bed.

And they stopped beside it, undressing each other. And they laughed together as the frustration of fumbling with wet buttons and zippers and cloth began to bubble over.

As they finally pulled the sheets away and fell into bed, not caring a lick that they were both still soaking wet, Chuck found a voice in his head repeat, _This is real. This is real. This is real._

This was real.

Her soft, damp skin against his hands, her strength underneath him, her whimpering voice in his ear.

For the first time in a decade, he was doing more than just seeking a distraction, more than just seeking thrills. He wasn't reaching for something real and meeting with thin air. He'd found something real. He'd reached out and found his hand meeting with a real woman. The most real woman he'd ever met in his entire twenty-seven years of life.

As she threw her weight to the side and he ended up on his back, he peered up at her and held on for dear life.

He wasn't seeking a thrill. He'd found it. Or she'd found _him_.

This wasn't a distraction.

She wasn't a mere distraction.

She was…purpose.

She was everything. She was everything. She was everything.

And as he moaned, "You're everything" out loud without being able to stop himself, she didn't laugh or giggle or stop. She doubled her efforts and leaned down, her lips at his ear.

"I love you… I love you, Chuck…"

* * *

 **A/N:** Doodle doo doo doooo dee doodle doo doodle doo dee... leeeeeeeeeave me a revieeeeeeeew! Just leeeeeeeeave me a revieeeeeeeeeew! What a glooooorious feeeeeelin', I'm (claps)

...gonna keep posting this story, either way, if I'm bein' honest with ya. So. At your leisure I guess. Chuck's the cutest. Okay bye!

-SC


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** My goodness, this story is eliciting some...reactions. I'll say that much. Thanks to those of you who are still reading, whether you're enjoying it or apparently hate-reading every chapter and telling me in great detail, including telling me that I'm "f_ing (r-word)" ...I refuse to approve a review with that word, nor am I putting that word here because it's a derogatory term and this is 2018 and not the Dark Ages (looking at you, mattypoo, since I'm sure you're still reading). So let me just say before we delve back into the story, if anyone thinks they might be able to troll and bully me out of writing Chuck fan fiction by sending mean reviews anonymously, threatening me, even doing so on my social media accounts... I hope you all enjoy the flurry of Chuck fan fiction I'll be posting after this story. I'm not one to be bullied, and especially not over freaking _fan fiction_. To quote my friend mattypoo, TRY AGAIN DOUCHEBAG. (Thanks for the hilarious quote; I'll be using it in everyday life now.) Enjoy this chapter! And I'll be seeing you all next time! And the time after that, and the time after that, and...

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck. I don't own the characters. I'm just here to have fun and provide free entertainment for my good Chuck people.

* * *

Sarah Walker didn't know what was better: the sex, or the way he'd crawled into her arms after they got back into bed post-bath, tucking his face under her chin and curling himself around her.

She couldn't decide.

Yes, she could.

The sex edged out the cuddling.

"I've changed my mind," he murmured against her neck, peppering her with kisses under her jaw so that she giggled and squirmed beneath him. She felt his teeth graze her jaw as he grinned. "This is the most beautiful place I've been."

Sarah beamed and squeezed him tighter, her arms slung around his shoulders as he laid on top of her. "Is it?"

"Mmmmmhm," he hummed. "Anywhere I'm with you, it's always going to be the most beautiful place I've ever been. Is that what love is?" He sighed. "I think that's what love is. To answer my own question."

He was so corny, sometimes on purpose, and she liked it so much.

She shut her eyes and took it all in, letting herself spend a moment reliving those indescribable sensations. The way he'd touched her, tasted her… He'd practically read her mind on more than one occasion. She bit her lip and took a deep, calming breath. "I think it must be."

"You meant it, then. When you said you loved me." He propped himself up and looked down into her face.

"Yes." She found she was a little breathless as she admitted it to him. It was startling enough admitting it to herself, admitting it to Carina, Zondra, Jay… But saying it to him… "I love you, Chuck."

He groaned, sliding a hand over her lower belly and curling his long, strong fingers around her hip. "I love you, too. More than I ever thought I could ever love anybody. It's almost…overwhelming."

"Isn't it?" she agreed, her chest heaving. "I can scarcely breathe."

"Am I crushing you?" he asked, shifting his weight to the side a bit. She almost corrected him, but then she saw the teasing sparkle in his eye and she just laughed instead. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

"Oh, you could. You just didn't want to. Just like I could've resisted you and your unending charms. But I definitely didn't want to." She stuck her tongue between her teeth and snorted as he gasped and dove in to nip at her collarbone teasingly. She yelped and tried to fight him off, giggling manically, slinging a leg over him and flipping him onto his back, leaning over him. "Don't you dare even think about tickling me."

"How'd you know I was going to think about it?" he asked, still giggling like a little boy. It filled her heart with warmth in a way nothing ever had before.

"I can read your mind."

"That's…terrifying. I've thought a lot of things around you that I'd never want you to know about."

"Mmm, like what?" she asked, pressing her hips down against his teasingly.

He bit his lip. "I thought you could read my mind. Wouldn't you already know?"

"Touché," she drawled, beaming down at him. He laughed, throwing his head back, his hands landing on her hips that she'd covered with a flimsy shift after taking a shower. "No, I really can. Like right now, I know what you're thinking."

"Do you?" he asked, raining an eyebrow. "What am I thinking then?" He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"You want to know what my name is so that you can stop calling me enigmatic robber woman."

"Damn." He blinked, genuinely impressed. "You're right. Gertrude. Lily. Marilyn. If you say it's either Veronica or Rita, I swear I'll die right here, in this bed."

She laughed. "Why Veronica or Rita?"

He furrowed his brow and winced. "Uh…no reason. Really. It's not, though, is it?"

"Sarah," she said softly, lowering herself so that she lay directly on top of him, bracing her elbows on either side of his shoulders so that their foreheads were pressed together. She nuzzled his nose with hers. "My name is Sarah."

Chuck blinked, and then a wide grin swept over his face. He looked so incredibly happy, and then it dimmed a bit, as though he was unsure… "Really?"

She nodded, feeling shy suddenly. Nobody besides Carina, Zondra, and Jay knew the name. Except for maybe her parents, wherever they were. Whatever they were doing. She didn't care. They didn't matter, especially not now.

"That's…the name you go by? Or your real name?"

"I go by ten names at once some days, for the job. I'll be Jenny one moment and Hetta the next. But I was born Sarah. Sarah…" She bit her lip, shut her eyes, willed away the nervous cold sweat, and huffed, knowing beyond all doubt she could trust him more than she'd ever trusted anyone. "Walker. Sarah Walker. Born in an inland town just outside of San Diego, California."

"Nooooooo," he gasped, pushing himself up on an elbow and gaping at her, a crooked smile on his face. "You're a California girl. No wonder I'm so in love with you. This California boy couldn't help but fall for you."

She giggled. "Is that all you fell for?"

"No. Not even a bit. You're also incredibly exciting…with an amazing sense of humor. You're insatiable, and I'm not even…referring to what we just did for…" He glanced at his watch. "For a while." He cleared his throat. "I mean that you're insatiable for life. It's contagious. It's so contagious. I caught it from you that first night and it lit my existence on fire."

Sarah sighed and melted into him. "God save me, the way you say things sometimes. I've never been the type to swoon, but you absolutely make me swoon."

"That's the first time anyone's ever said that without talking about my money."

"That helps."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, tackling her to the mattress so that the both lay on their sides, face to face. She snuggled close and kissed his chin. "I love you, Charles Irving Bartowski," she breathed.

"I love you, Sarah Walker."

Hearing him say it that way, tacking on her full name, her real name, made her feel like every hardship, every mountain she had to climb, every struggle, every hurdle, was worth it so that she could get here, to him.

And that was suddenly a lot for her to have to digest.

So she gave him a teasing look, trying to slip back into their just-enjoy-it-and-live-in-the-moment mood. "You know, that story you told the gendarme to explain your strange-looking situation out on the street earlier was pretty terrible."

He laughed, his chest bouncing against hers. "Oh, come now. If it was so bad, why did he believe it?"

"You didn't hear the second half of what I was going to say," she giggled. "Because while the story was absolutely awful, you were incredibly believable. I'm impressed, rich boy. I should also add, that is what makes for a good con artist."

"A good liar?"

"A believable liar. You could tell the most foolish story ever and if you tell it the right way, nobody would question you on it." She bit her lip. "That's what you did."

"Are you telling me I'd be good at what you do?"

"You'd need a bit of training but you have the makings of a pretty good conman."

"From anyone else, that would not be a compliment."

She laughed and tucked her face into his shoulder, hugging him tight. "I don't know that you've got the enthusiasm for it, though."

"I haven't. I already have too much. Money, that is. What do I need jewels and rare trinkets for? Now, there is something to the chase of it all. The adrenaline. I could see that being quite the thing."

She propped herself up and looked down into his face in surprise. "Are you telling me that my profession doesn't…" She searched for a word. "…repulse you?"

"It doesn't repulse me, no."

"Shock you? Concern you?"

"Shock, no. Concern…perhaps," he admitted, shrugging. She bit the inside of her cheek and regarded him for a long time, and then he continued, his hand sliding over her bare thigh and squeezing. "Not concern for me or my belongings, my fortune. I know you aren't a threat to me or my safety. I know you'd never hurt me or take anything from me…"

"On the contrary, I took quite a bit," she drawled, leaning down to seductively trap his jaw between he teeth, kissing the spot after.

"Mmm, I was there, and I have to say, you gave quite a bit back."

Her jaw fell open, as she didn't expect him to come back with something like that. And this was what got her so hooked on him in the first place, wasn't it? The way he met her fire with fire of his own.

"No, the concern I have is for you. Your safety."

She snorted, warmed by his admission. "Chuck, I've been doing this since I was practically a kid. I can keep myself safe. I'm careful."

"You robbed the jewelry store the other day without a mask, hair out, face showing."

Sarah rolled off of him and sat up, almost a little frustrated with him now. "I know what I'm doing."

"No, no! Wait…" He sat up next to her. In her peripheral, she saw him lift a hand to touch her arm or her back, she wasn't sure which, but then he lowered it again. "I didn't mean to insinuate you aren't a criminal mastermind—what am I even saying?" He scoffed and shook his head. "I'm out of my depth with you, Sarah Walker."

"Are you?" she asked, gnawing on her lip.

"I am. A little."

Which was almost funny, she thought to herself. Because one of the reasons she'd fallen for him as hard and as quickly as she had was because she deemed him at her level, someone who could meet her intelligence, her guile, her wit. And here he was telling her he was out of his depth with her.

"I don't think you are. I've shown you more than I've ever shown anyone. More of…me. Who I am. Who I really am. What I'm really about." She turned to face him, unable to keep from eyeing his bare chest. She didn't know if he noticed, and frankly, she didn't care. He had to know by now she was physically attracted to him. And why couldn't she stay focused on the conversation at hand?

"You're a jewel robber. A con artist."

"I'm a woman. Yes, I'm those things, too. But I'm also a woman. Underneath all of that. That's what tonight is about, Chuck. That's what I've tried to make tonight about. But I need you to understand that I know how to do my own job. I've kept myself safe all this time. I have three other people who aren't just there to help me, they also protect me, too. Just as I protect them. They…went out of their way to come up with this whole scheme to get you here, to give us this last night together."

He dropped his eyes to his lap and she knew she hurt him every time she mentioned this was their last night. This was exactly the conversation she'd been trying to avoid, and yet it kept coming up. She wasn't even sure if it was his fault this time.

"I apologize," he said, actually putting his hand on her arm this time. "You are more than capable of doing all of this on your own, of staying safe, protecting yourself. We've shared a lot since that night at the craps table, but I still don't know anything about you."

"Funny," she said with something of a bittersweet smirk on her face. "You know more about me than just about anyone. So I suppose that says quite a bit about what kind of a person I am."

She noticed that he wasn't responding to that. She felt a dull throb in her chest.

"You probably won't know much more than this, Chuck. That's just the way it has to be. I'm sorry. I was already in love with you before, that first night probably, that immediate magnetism...After tonight, I'm not sure how I'm going to manage without you, but I—I think I'm going to have to try." She let out a harsh breath, biting her lip, not looking at him. "You're not meant for me."

"I don't believe that."

She widened her eyes and finally looked at him. He was staring at her, his jaw clenched, eyes steady. "What?" she breathed.

"You said I'm not meant for you. I don't believe that. Literally everything that's happened in the last sixty hours of my life has made it incredibly clear to me that I am meant for you. And you're absolutely meant for me, Sarah Walker."

"Chuck, i-it's not that easy."

"Of course it's not easy," he said. "I'm a socialite. I hobnob with upper crust, high-living people who have gobs of money to waste. I get my picture taken twice a week when going into or out of a party, or at one of the numerous events I've hosted, helped set up. My sister and I are as close to royalty as Americans can get. So much in my life has been easy. Easy is practically all I know," he argued, completely shifting his body around to face her and crossing his legs, leaning in close so that she was forced to meet his gaze. She couldn't look away if she wanted to. "This is going to be hard. Everything about this screams difficult, Sarah. But I can handle hard. I can handle difficult. I think I can handle literally anything if it means I get to see you again, be with you."

"Chuck, you're…" She let out another harsh breath. "You're so wonderful. You're wonderful and I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything, or anyone." Sarah couldn't help putting her hand on his face, feeling the scratchy hint of stubble on his cheek and jaw and finding herself liking it quite a bit. "But I think you're so focused on dismissing your own lifestyle as an obstacle for us that you're forgetting what I am. Who I am. I'm not just...some…" She huffed. "I don't know, some gangster's moll like in those dark, gritty movies Jay always drags me and the girls to."

"I love those," he breathed. "I'd happily go with that big lug to a movie like that. See? We could make this work. I could make friends with him, even if he did get an unsettling amount of joy from kidnapping me."

She bit her lip and rolled her eyes, even as her heart flooded with warmth. He was so eager to make this work. And she wanted it to so badly. But she had to be the realistic one because he had the most to lose here. He was taking the biggest risk. And she couldn't let him do that for her. For this.

"Chuck, I'm not a regular girl."

"Of course not. That's why I was drawn to you in the first place. It's why I love you."

He was making this so difficult for her and she wanted to hate him for it, but she couldn't. She didn't think she could hate this man for any reason, ever.

"That may be the case, handsome, but a guy like you can't be with a girl like me. It just can't happen. I'm not just a pickpocket. I'm not some street urchin who is searching for a better life, waiting for my big break to better myself. I'm a jewel thief. I'm a con artist. This is my life. It's a good life. It's a life wrought with danger, yes. And I'm not saying I'm a good person, I guess, and—Oh, Chuck, that's just it." She cupped his face in her hands. "I'm not a good person. You are. You're destined for better things, better people. You deserve a better person."

"Oh, come on. Like whom? I've met so-called 'good people'. I've met 'good women'. Women who, for all intents and purposes, would be seen by just about anybody as better than you are. Better than a woman who's chosen to steal for a living."

"Listen to what you just said, Chuck. I've chosen to steal for a living. It's true. I have. And I'm not changing that anytime soon."

"That's not my point. Sure, none of those women stole things. But God, if I heard another damn sentence about Givenchy and 'shirting', whatever the hell that is, I was ready to jump off of a damn bridge. And that was it, Sarah. That was all it ever was with them." He pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. "And I'm not trying to dumb them down. Of course they've all been well-educated, well-versed in the arts, aware of politics and society… I went with a woman who founded a charity for homeless teenagers, to get them in school and back on their feet."

"What was wrong with her?" she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. "She sounds amazing, kind, caring…"

"Nothing was wrong with her. Nothing at all. She's perfect. Sheila Philips is perfect. Her brothers and sisters are all perfect. Her parents are perfect. And I have no doubt anyone who ends up married to her will have a perfectly happy existence. She's great. But there was absolutely nothing there." He took a deep breath. "There was nothing. I tried really hard to drum up something...I tried to pretend. I thought if I pretended enough it would just...grow eventually. But it's like I told you before, I just couldn't...Nothing worked. No amount of trying helped."

"It sounds like she could make you happy."

"Probably. I don't want her. I don't want...that kind of existence."

"Helping homeless teenagers?"

"No." He shook his head, seeming almost annoyed with her now, and her inability to see what he was trying to say. "Perfection. I don't want a perfect existence. I don't want everything to come easy. I want to have to work for my happiness."

Sarah blinked. "Chuck, you-you lost your parents. Nothing about that was easy."

"I know," he breathed, pushing his hands through his unruly curls and ending up clutching both of his ears in his fists. "I know, I know. I'm reminded of that every day and I think I always will be. That's going to stay with me for the rest of my life." He let go of his ears and sat up straight again. She noticed they were red now, from him grabbing and pulling at them no doubt. "But even-even that was—Oh, this is going to sound absolutely terrible. But even my parents going down over the skies of France during the war, dying as heroes, earning posthumous Purple Hearts, Ellie and I winning the support and love of Americans from all walks of life, all of that was...perfect."

She felt her heart thudding horribly against her ribcage. Because she saw unshed tears sitting at the edges of his eyes as he glanced to the side, diverting his gaze from her, blinking fast. She wasn't prepared for this conversation to happen. Nerves wracked her. And still she reached out to put a hand on his thigh, squeezing comfortingly.

"I miss them. I miss my father. He was quiet, but he was so seriously supportive, so kind. He found me taking apart his favorite radio when I was a boy. I think I must have been eight or nine. And instead of scolding, instead of getting my mother to come in and yell at me for touching his things, he just sat down next to me and asked if I could put it back together. Without blinking. No anger. Just curiosity. He wanted to know if I could do it."

She smiled at him, squeezing his thigh again. "Could you? I mean, did you?"

Sarah found herself irrationally attracted to him when he scoffed and furrowed his brow. "Please, Sarah. Of course I could. Of course I did. Halfway through putting it back together, though, my mother did walk in and she did yell at me." He chuckled. "She was amazed when I not only put it back together, I managed to make it work better."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's impressive."

"She thought so. My pop, though...He just seemed like he knew that was exactly what would happen. Like he never doubted me for a second." He chuckled wistfully and distractedly laid his hand on top of her hand, curling his fingers around hers and squeezing. "I miss them."

Chuck cleared his throat then and blushed a bit. "That's not my point, though. I went off on a tangent. My parents dying…that obviously was not easy. But everyone set things up for Ellie and I, gave us this path, and I'm not saying I'm upset about it. Sally and Philip were there, protecting us, and Morgan, the entire American public, politicians, generals in the military, the president and his wife… then the next president and his wife. Everyone. I'm grateful, but the path was easy, even if it was hard to deal with losing both of my parents. And money, well...that makes everything easy, doesn't it?"

"Chuck, I understand what you're saying. But I-I don't want to be the token Difficult Thing In Your Life. That's not...It feels…" She didn't know how to finish that.

"You're more than that, Sarah. You're not just this...difficult thing I found that's different from everything else in my life. That's not what I'm saying. You are different. You aren't like anyone I've ever known before in my life. But that's not all this is." He shook his head. "I can't explain it, but this is deeper. Stronger. I can feel it."

"I feel it, too," she breathed, turning her hand over in his. "But sometimes we don't get what we want, or…" Her voice broke and she cleared her throat, nibbling on her lip. "...or what we might think we deserve. I've learned that often enough."

"Maybe you've learned it too often, Sarah Walker."

Sarah stopped and looked at him, surprised. His words hit her like an entire house had fallen out of the sky and landed on her head. She'd lived a life wrought with trouble, risk...and until the last few years, she'd had more failure than success. She'd given up quite a bit to be where she was now, and she wasn't sure whether it ended up being worth it or not at this point, as established as she was, as good as she was in the con game industry. If you could call it an industry. But it didn't matter, because it had happened and she was here. She'd learned to keep going, walk away from things that were important to her. Whether it was to keep herself safe or to help someone else, she'd had to learn to just leave things behind.

She was sure Chuck Bartowski would be no different.

"Sarah, you need to understand. I know how I sound. I always get what I want because I can pay for most of it. And I meant it when I said I'm used to getting what I want, too. I am. Maybe it's made me entitled. Maybe I'm having a hard time really seeing where you're coming from because I never had to give anything up." Except for his parents, she thought to herself. He had to give up his parents. And as much as he tried to downplay it, she knew it must have shattered his entire world. And his sister's. "But, Sarah, I want this more than I've ever wanted anything else. I want you more than I ever thought I'd want anyone. You're the most important thing in the world to me."

"We met two days ago."

"And? We're a complicated species, human beings. We want things we can't have and we have things we don't want. And love is the most complicated part of life. It might take two people decades to fall in love, or...perhaps it only takes them a moment. I fell in love with you in a moment, Sarah Walker. One moment. Our eyes met and I was a goner."

She was afraid to meet his eyes now, just in case, and she looked down at their hands joined on his leg. "It's like a movie."

"It is. Sure. But where do you think those screenwriters got it from?"

Sarah gave Chuck a dubious look.

"All right, all right," he chuckled, waving his other hand through the air. "I know. I'm being...a bit much. I can see it in your face." He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "But you should probably know that this wasn't a problem for me until you came along. Before this, my response was to shrug things off, accept everything as it came, chalk it up to 'it is what it is'. I never fought for anything. Maybe I never had to. But I think I never felt like I wanted to. I want to now. I want to fight with everything in me, Sarah. For this. I'll talk in circles for hours if there's maybe a chance I come up with some madcap idea that means we can pull this off. Being together, I mean." He bit his lip. "Does any of that make any sense at all? I can't even keep track of what I'm saying."

She just stared for a moment, taking him in. His eyebrows went up in the middle, his brown eyes filled with desperation almost, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Passion lit his features in the best way, and his words were sinking in, draping over her like a warm, comfortable blanket.

Sarah closed the distance and wrapped her arms around his torso, leaning her weight against him and shutting her eyes as she clung. Everything he said made her want him more. And not just in the way that had prompted them to jump in bed the way they had a few hours ago. Want want. For keeps.

But God, she couldn't say that out loud.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, her voice sounded pitiful even to her own ears. "Why can't you just throw me down onto this bed again and take me and just leave it at that? The way anyone else might?"

He was quiet for a few moments, but she felt him shiver. And then she felt his lips at her ear, kissing her at first, and then whispering, "Because you're worth more than that to me." He paused as she shook in his arms, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter. "And we both deserve more than that."

"I'd prefer you have your way with me over this whole tearing my heart in two thing you're doing, Charles Bartowski."

He chuckled, but it was quiet, mute almost. And he slipped his arms around her body and held her tight. "What if I do both?"

She found herself giggling, blinking away tears as he swung her down onto the mattress and began kissing her jaw, down her neck, her collarbone, her chest just above the lace of the shift she wore, and back up again. And as he lowered his weight on top of her, they were both startled by the shrill ringing of the phone on the bedside nightstand.

Sarah heard him groan and she bit her cheek to hold back her own moan of annoyance. But then he propped himself up over her, a sweet befuddled look on his face. "Who's...calling you?"

"My girls," she said. "They've been doing the work while I've been here with you. Uh, do you mind...um…" She flicked her gaze down to where he was blanketing her with his lithe body.

"Oh! Sorry...o-of course."

When he rolled off of her, she reached over and grabbed the phone, pulling it onto the bed and answering it. "Hello?"

"We're all set," Zondra said on the other side of the line. "I didn't interrupt anything did I?"

If only she knew…

"No," she said drily. "But thanks for asking. Everything went according to plan?"

"Not a single wrinkle. As wrinkle-less as a baby's backside."

"Well. That's strange. But an effective metaphor, I suppose." She giggled, her heart aching in spite of it. "Thanks, Z. And Carina?"

"Waiting with Philandro at the boat. Everything's loaded, the rest ready to be shipped off to Lisbon in the belly of the plane."

Sarah gnawed on her lip nervously. "Do you think they'll check the crates?"

"Nah. They wouldn't dare. And if they do, it's connected to someone who hasn't been alive for thirteen years. They'll never trace it to us."

She let out a long breath. "You're right. Here's hoping it's waiting at the house when we get there."

"It will be, Sar. We've done this before. Without a hitch."

"Right, right."

"I'll, uh, let you get back to...ahem. Carina's gonna stay on the boat until Jay's off his protection detail. I'll be heading back to the house soon and I'll take over. Everything's set. We're all good, Boss."

"Thanks, Z. Really."

"Sure, Boss."

They hung up and Sarah put the phone back, lying back against the pillow again and just staring at the ceiling. "Everything is ready for us to leave, get out of here," she finally said as Chuck turned onto his side, propped his head up, and peered down at her.

"You're...leaving now?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's better we do it just as the sun's coming up. Much earlier than that and it's suspicious, any later and the early risers will be out and about."

"Ah…" He paused. "I'm afraid to look at the time."

She let her eyes drift shut. "Then don't." Turning to look at him, meeting his gaze with as much passion as she was capable of, she put a hand on the side of his face and stroked her thumb over his lips. "Don't look at the time. Just finish what we started."

"I don't want there to be a finish," he whispered, his hand landing on her thigh, fingers tucking under the lace hem of her shift. "Why does there have to be a finish?"

"Chuck…"

"We can make this work, Sarah. You and me. I don't need to continue living the way I've been living. I'll make that sacrifice. The limelight, the public eye, the parties...I'll give it all up."

"Are you crazy?" She flopped onto the pillow dramatically and put her hands on her head. "Chuck, you keep forgetting that I'm a thief! I steal things! I just robbed a jewelry store the other night and I'm wanted by the gendarmerie. I've had Interpol after me before, the feds in the U.S. You really want to bring someone like that into your home, Chuck? Into the Bartowski family?" She wasn't really listening to herself, what she'd just insinuated. "Where do you think this is going to go?"

"I might be absolutely crazy. I'll grant you that. But we both are and we damn well belong together. The gendarmerie, Interpol, whatever country's consulate that wants to try to come after you while you're with me don't stand a chance."

She scoffed. "You do sound incredibly rich right now, Bartowski. You think your name will keep them from taking the Ice Queen and throwing her in prison if they find out who she is? You must be mad."

"We've established that. I am mad. They don't need to ever find out who you are. Who's Sarah Walker?"

She blinked up at him. "The Ice Queen."

"No. No, she isn't. Has that name ever been connected with anything the Ice Queen's ever done?"

She shook her head. "No...No, it hasn't. But…"

"So there's no reason why they would connect it now."

"Chuck, you-"

"Sarah, it's so simple."

"No!" she snapped, sitting up. "Chuck, it's not simple! Nothing about this is simple! Will you please stop? I'm trying to protect you!"

"From what?" he asked, raising his own voice. "I don't need protection from you."

"You need protection from this. All of this. Everything I'm going to bring into your life."

"Excitement? Adventure? Love? Fantastic Sex? ...Happiness?"

"Trouble, Chuck."

"I love trouble. I adore trouble. Trouble is all I want."

"No, Chuck. It isn't. You think it is because you love me, because we just finished having...like you said, fantastic sex. But it's made you think that being with me is what's best for you, for your life. You think you want trouble. Trust me, Chuck. You don't."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe you don't know what's best for me? At least, you don't know better than I do about what's best for me."

"What if I do, Chuck? I know what I've done and what I'm capable of. I know what this kind of life is like, I know how dangerous it is. That's what I'll bring to your existence—danger. Risk. Do you think the American public is going to like its favorite son running around with a con artist? A criminal?"

"I don't care what the American public thinks."

"You can say that easy enough, Chuck, but public opinion is a massive part of your existence, your lifestyle. You think you can just give that up, but what if it's harder than that?" She shook her head and pushed her hands through her hair, growling in frustration at him, at this whole situation. And she was more upset now, because what did she really expect would happen here? Did she really fool herself into thinking this conversation wouldn't happen? Especially after the sex?

"I might not know you or what you want. But I know that I would have a really hard time changing this. My life. What I do. What I enjoy doing. I love you. And I might do anything for you, Chuck. Really and truly, I might. But giving up a part of myself? And that's what this is. This is my existence, it's me. I don't know if I can throw that away. And I don't think you could do it, either."

His shoulders slumped and he looked down at his lap. "It isn't fair."

"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, rich boy, but life ain't fair for the rest of us down here." She winced. "I didn't mean that to sound so harsh. Or that I'm bitter towards you for being so rich. I'm not. It isn't like you have much of a choice." She reached up to put her hand on the back of his neck, rubbing comfortingly. His eyes fluttered shut and he sighed. "I did have a choice, Chuck. I mean, maybe not at first," she admitted, thinking back to the situations that had thrusted her into this life. "But I've lifted myself to a point where I could easily leave this behind and live a life away from the con game. No more robberies, no heists. I could do it. I've chosen not to. And that's why I can't have you. As much as I want you. And God help me, you have no idea how badly I want you, Bartowski."

Chuck bit his lip and opened his eyes again, turning his head, chin still on his chest, and eyeing her steadily. "And I swear to you, Sarah Walker, on my life, that if you didn't make that choice, I don't think I'd love you so ardently."

She sniffed in bitter amusement. "And so it is...the thing you love me for is the thing that will send us each on our own paths, different paths, away from each other."

"It doesn't have to be that way!"

"Yes, Chuck! It does!"

He groaned and fell back against the bed, covering his face. "You're so stubborn."

"Yeah, well...it's kept me alive."

Chuck peeked up at her through his fingers, then he huffed and dropped his hands onto the pillow beside his head. "Sarah, we can do this. We can do anything."

"Another thing life's taught me—sometimes you really can't do anything. There are things you can't do. Life is hard. You have to make decisions about your life that are hard. Everything is a choice. And sometimes you have to choose the right thing over…" She bit her lip. "Happiness."

"You don't have to. Not with me." He put his hand on her ankle and stroked it with his thumb. Even that small amount of intimate contact made her ache for more. "We take this path together, whatever that path ends up being—and I'm still thinking about it, don't think I'm not thinking about it—" She smirked at that. "I promise you I'll do everything within my power—and I'm a damn powerful man—to keep you safe. I'll fix all of this. You won't have to pick anything over your own happiness again."

Sarah clenched her jaw and took a calming breath. "I don't need you to fix anything, Chuck. I don't need you to save me from this life. I don't need to be rescued. I like where I am."

"I'm not trying to rescue you. I just want to be with you."

"I want to be with you, Chuck. I do. We just...can't."

"God, you make this sound like we're in the fourteen-hundreds—a princess falling in love with a serf."

"Are you the princess in this scenario?"

"I'm the serf!" he snapped, frowning at her. She bit her cheek to keep from laughing at him. "This is nineteen-fifty-three. It's a new world. The only thing that separates me from you is how much money I have."

"Chuck, this isn't about class! It's about the fact that I steal to make my living and you most certainly do not! I live my life in the shadows. I'll be in a lot of danger if I try to wander out into the light where people can see me, get to know me. I can't just erase my past, my whole life!"

"I don't want you to erase anything! And you don't have to come out of the shadows! You're painting this dramatic scene that doesn't reflect the actual situation! Nobody knows who you are!"

"You think some of the victims and witnesses of my crimes wouldn't recognize me on the arm of the Bartowski heir?!" she snapped. "What world are you living in? Or is your head stuck in the clouds?"

"We can make this work!"

"We can't!"

"How do you know if we don't try?!"

"I'm not doing this! I'm not putting you in danger!"

"So I'm not allowed to save you or protect you, but it's perfectly fine for you to want to protect me. I see."

"It's different!"

"Not a bit!"

She growled in frustration and crossed her arms, turning away from him.

"What, did you think I'd just let you bring me here tonight and then leave in the morning perfectly fine with the idea of never seeing you again? You thought I would make love to you and then walk away like a good, obedient boy?"

"Stop it. That's not what this was."

"I know. That's why I'm arguing with you."

"I don't want this. I don't want to argue. In a few hours, this is all over. I just want to be with you. Please, Chuck…"

"Then stop arguing with me and help me think of a way we can save this, preserve it, keep it going. You know what they say about two heads…" He shrugged.

She stared at him, then sighed, shaking her head. "I don't understand how I could love you as much as I do and then hate you at the same time, but I do."

Chuck smirked. "You do not," he drawled.

"Of course I don't," she half-whined. "I could never hate you. Even if I tried. No matter how damn annoying you are right now." She reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards her. "Please, Chuck. It'll be morning before we know it."

She slung her leg around him and turned so that he was pinned to the bed beneath her and she lowered her hips to press down against his. And as she kissed him, she felt his skin against her fingers start to heat up, his body come alive…

"Please," she whimpered against his lips. "Touch me…"

He did.

"How am I supposed to think of a way we can be together and make love to you at the same time?" he asked. The teasing lilt to his voice both awoke desire in her and gave her an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Multitask," she panted, tucking her fingers under the waistband of his undershorts and pushing them down. "I know firsthand just how…" She bit her lip and looked at him through her eyelashes. "...amazing you are at multitasking."

She heard him gulp and she began dotting kisses down his body.

"H'ooooo I'll sure try," she heard his tight voice squeak out, and there wasn't much he could say after that.

}o{

He'd gotten the hint when Sarah finally peeled herself out of his arms and climbed out of bed, moving through the early morning shadows stretching across the room towards the suitcase she'd already packed at some point, before he'd been kidnapped and brought to this house. They'd probably all packed and stashed their things, along with the loot from the jewelry store robbery, in some safe place they could access when they were leaving.

Which was soon.

And so he'd finally gotten out of bed and slid on his undershorts, putzing about and picking up his clothes, one by one, putting them on, as slowly as possible.

They moved around the room in silence. It was tense silence, in spite of the physical...well, explosion...that had lasted them until the early morning hours.

He wracked his brain for a way to break the tension, something he could say to fill the silence, something that wasn't awkward or uncomfortable.

But then the phone rang again.

He turned and watched as Sarah hurried across the room, still hooking her bra, and she picked up the phone. "Yeah…"

She was quiet for a few beats. And then… "No, I know. I figured we were getting to the wire, here." More silence. "Yes. Yeah. No, it's—I know. Just, uh, wait outside for me. I need, um, a few minutes. Please."

Chuck felt his heart sink as he stared at her bare shoulders, so strong and yet slumped at the moment. He understood how she felt, he thought. Everything in him, inside and out, felt like slumping.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and then she hung up.

She just stood there, her back to him.

"Time is up, huh?" he asked finally, shrugging his button-up on over his undershirt.

Her shoulder rose and lowered again as she took a deep breath he could hear all the way from across the room. "Yeah. Seems that way."

As he buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his pants, he crossed to her side and just stood there, peering down at her as she stared hard at the floor. "Sarah, I can't push you. I know how I must seem...like I'm naive. Purposely ignorant of the way things are. But I see the barriers. There's a lot here that should prevent us from going any further than this. My lot in life, your career choice." He felt the corner of his mouth tilt up in a bit of a crooked smile. "I see all those things. But I know that my life is significantly brighter with you in it. That alone is enough for me to try everything possible to keep you in it. I won't beg."

He paused as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, crossing her arms.

"Unless you think it might work."

She let out a soft, one syllable giggle through her nose that was almost too adorable.

Chuck reached out and picked up the blouse she'd taken from her suitcase to put on, then held it open behind her. She gave him a surprised look, and then something in her face changed, her chin quivered a bit, and she turned away, slipping her arms into the sleeves of the blouse and letting him put it on her.

He stepped around to her front and slowly, gently, began buttoning it from the bottom to the top, not meeting her eye for the moment, afraid of what he'd see there. He was almost sure it wasn't resignation. He wouldn't love her so much if she was the type to resign that easily.

"This feels so cruel," he said quietly. "Only having two days with you, and one night. As life-changing as it's been. It's just not nearly enough." He clenched his jaw and focused extra hard on the last button up by her blouse's collar. "I'm not sure there is an amount of time that would be enough. Not where you're concerned, Sarah Walker. Enigmatic Robber Woman."

She smiled sadly at the nickname.

"You keep using my name now that I've told it to you," she said quietly.

"Mhm. Because I love it. It suits you, and I love you, so it just follows that I'd love it, too."

Sarah reached up and unbuttoned the top button of the blouse, smiling at him in amusement as he blushed. He supposed she never buttoned the top button. Was that something all women did? Or just her? Did it really matter? No. Or maybe it did. He didn't know.

She tucked the blouse into her navy blue skirt and clasped it shut, readjusting it a bit.

"Could you really see that name in the newspapers? Right next to yours? Charles Bartowski stepping out with his girl, Sarah Walker?"

"I can't stop seeing it. That's all I've been thinking about."

Sarah raised her eyebrows, and then gave him a big, melty smile. "Just keep saying things like that until I leave. Please. I think it could last me a lifetime."

That hurt worse than he wanted it to. And he let out a long breath through pursed lips. "I wish it didn't have to. I wish you could trust me, trust us, to be able to figure this out, make it happen. I don't have to be in the public eye. I can keep out of it. I can abandon the parties, the soirees, the...everything else. The high-life. Because that's empty for me, anyway. It always has been."

"Says the man who started last night drunk out of his mind."

"I wasn't drunk out of my mind," he chuckled, buckling his belt blindly and missing the hole a few too many times. Sarah smirked and grabbed it from him, buckling it for him. "I was just drunk."

"Oh. Right." She giggled at him, then put her hands on his chest, sliding them up to gently pull at the lapel of his shirt. A melancholy look came over her face, one of longing and aching need.

"Sarah, I can do it. Maybe not easily. Maybe it would be hard, since I've been doing it for so long, even if I didn't enjoy it. But I don't mind hard. I don't need everything in my life to be easy. I don't need this, you, to be easy. I'm willing to tackle it, I want to try, even if it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my whole life. You're worth it to me. I say that with absolute certainty."

"Stop," she breathed, almost a sob, and she half turned away from him, pressing her fingers to her lips. "Please, Chuck. You're...Please stop saying these things."

"I thought you wanted me to."

"I've changed my mind," she said lamely, and she smiled self-deprecatingly, folding herself into his chest and tucking her head under his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly to him, shutting his eyes and willing his heart to stop breaking.

She ran her hand down his chest and wrapped that arm around his torso, burrowing herself even further into his embrace. "We shouldn't, Chuck. It won't work. Our lives won't fit together. They're too...conflicting."

Chuck just nodded. "They are. They don't have to be. If we just compromise a bit, both of us. Or...or maybe we find places to meet, a way to communicate with one another."

"Is that the kind of life you want? Clandestine meetings like this? Forever? Meeting under the cover of darkness? Never having a life together, just meeting quickly in the night? Two ships that keep passing but never…" She sighed. "Chuck, that's no life for you."

"I want a life with you, Sarah. However I can get it."

He heard a soft sniff and he hugged her as tight as he could, pressing his face into her hair.

"Can you at least tell me where you're going?" he asked.

She pulled back and eyed him dubiously.

"I wouldn't be able to find you if I tried, just from the name of a country...or a city, even."

"I don't believe you," she teased, and then she let her fingertips brush along his jaw adoringly. "Lisbon," she breathed. "Portugal. It's far enough away to be safe for us to conduct our business if we get the loot there."

"Ah. Lisbon is beautiful this time of year. I could meet you there. We could have more than just one night." He pressed his lips against her ear. "I've got quite a bit more up my sleeves, Miss Walker. You don't even know the half of it."

She hummed and shivered. "I have no doubt."

They both pulled back this time, and he let himself get lost in her eyes. He was afraid that for all his determination, and he was very determined, this might very well be it. The end. Before it ever really began.

He wanted to just look at her for a while, to remember her. Just in case. Not that he thought he could ever forget.

"I have to go," she said finally, unshed tears in her eyes for just a moment. They were gone just as quickly and he imagined she had a voice inside of her telling her to be strong, much like the voice that was currently inside of his own head.

Although his voice was urging him to keep pushing. And so he did.

"Please don't let this be the end, Sarah. Please."

She pulled away and stepped into her shoes, grabbing the blazer that matched her skirt and shrugging it on. She didn't seem to want to respond to that.

"We don't have to go our separate ways forever. Just tell me where you are. You know how to find me. Will you promise me we'll meet again?" He grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

"Chuck, I can't…"

"Will you let me be in your life?"

He could see the resolve crumbling in her face. She loved him. He could see it, feel it. She was clutching onto his hand so tightly.

"Chuck…"

The door to the bedroom burst open then and C and Z were there.

"Goodbye's over. Gendarmes are a few blocks away," C said. "I took a short cut to get back and saw them coming. We have to go."

"Trust Fund coming with us?" the brunette asked, grabbing two of Sarah's suitcases and shoving them under her arms.

"No," Sarah said before he could answer. But she was staring at him. "If we leave you here, though, they'll suspect you…"

C had already grabbed a chair and slammed it down behind him. He spun on his heel to look at her. "Wha—?" She cut him off by grabbing him by both shoulders and yanking him down to sit on the chair. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"They won't suspect him if he was kidnapped."

"Technically, he was," Z said with a shrug.

"Oh. Oh!" Sarah rushed across the room and grabbed the telephone, ripping the thing out of the wall with one strong yank. He marveled for a bit, watching her with awe in his face as she rushed back to him.

"Z, pack everything up in the car and get it running. We'll be right on your heels."

"Car's a'runnin'," she said. She rushed for the door of the room, and as Sarah and C began tying Chuck to the chair, she looked back and met his eyes. "Nice knowin' ya, Trust Fund." She paused. "Chuck."

"Thanks, Z." She smiled at that, lingering. "Go. And ya better hurry," he teased.

She snapped out a, "Don't tell me what to do" and then she was gone.

C finished tying off the wire.

"Hey… Uh, do you need to be so handsy?" he asked.

"Yes."

He smirked at Sarah as she just continued to stare at him. She had a handkerchief in her hand, hanging limply from her fingers. He sobered significantly then as C stood up.

"All right. Present's all wrapped up tight. We packin' him up in the car? Last chance, Blondie."

Chuck knew her answer by the look on her face.

"No, Carina." So. C stood for Carina. It fit. But he didn't have much time to think about it because he felt like his whole world was crashing down around his ears. "I'll be right behind you. Wait in the car with Z."

The redhead gave him a long look, then leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Don't let me down, curls, eh?"

He didn't get what she meant, but he nodded anyway, smiling his goodbye as she sprinted out of the room and left them alone.

Sarah leaned down and put the gag on him before he could say anything, and he cried out in a panic. He had so much he wanted to say. He had to ask her one more time, he needed to ask her. He needed answers. If he only had one last thing he could say, he needed to tell her he loved her. Just so she was sure.

But it didn't seem like she was going to give him that chance.

She tied the handkerchief at the back of his head as he struggled, his eyes wide, pleading with her.

Sarah put her hands on either side of his face, just looking into his eyes. He heard the sound of sirens far off in the distance, getting closer. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she breathed, and finally, the tears fell down her cheeks. "I love you. I need you to live the best possible life you can live. And I can't do that for you. I'd try—God, I'd try. I'm not enough." She pressed her lips to his forehead, the tears coming faster. "But I'm never going to forget you. And I'm never going to stop loving you."

Chuck pulled at the telephone wire hard, shaking his head, begging with his eyes, trying to say her name through the gag.

There was a quick, low beep of a horn below, and the sirens came closer still. She glanced over her shoulder at the window, then turned back to him, drinking him in, pushing one hand through his hair lovingly.

"I'm too much trouble," she sobbed, and then she kissed his cheek, long and hard, throwing her arms around him.

He yelled for her every step she took away from him, and she looked at him one last time at the door, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was cutting them off. This was the end. He had her answer. He hated her answer. He yelled and yelled and yelled.

Chuck Bartowski was still yelling two minutes later when the police burst into the house down below and staggered up the stairs to him, rescuing the kidnap victim, assuming the tears on his face were from fright instead of the heartbreak he was drowning in.

* * *

 **A/N:** And scene.

But not really, because there are a few more chapters! Stick around, I promise I will not disappoint you. I'm not about the disappointing readers life. 'Til next we meet (which will be soon!)...

-SC


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Short and sweet because I just want you to start reading. But thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing and favoriting and following. You're all so great.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck. I don't own the characters. I'm just here to have fun and provide free entertainment for my good Chuck people.

* * *

She meant well, he knew, but he wasn't entirely in the mood for his sister's company this morning. Even after a long nap.

Her hand landed on his neck, nice and cool against his hot, clammy skin.

"Why don't you take a long bath, Chuck? Just rest today. The gendarmerie said they were done with questioning, said you were free to go." She moved her hand to his shoulder and squeezed. "Devon and I will hold down the fort. Morgan's finishing up at the station with the paperwork. You can have the whole suite to yourself again if you want. Or I can stay. If you need me."

"Ellie, I'm all right. Please stop fussing."

She sighed. "I'm not fussing. I'm just making sure you're actually all right and not just saying you're all right."

He chuckled and pushed his hands through his hair, climbing to his feet. "I'm not all right. I'm just saying it. But I'll be just fine. Don't worry."

"Wellll, I'm a little worried, since you were _kidnapped_ , Charles Irving."

Chuck sent his sister a long look. "What if I told you I lied to the gendarme?"

Devon perked up where he was standing at the doors out onto the balcony. "Would you say that again?" he asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets and crossing the room to them. "You lied to the gendarme?"

He winced. "Yes. Again."

"Ohhhhh, dear lord," Ellie moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Chuck, have you ever not lied to the police?"

"Plenty of times!" he said, crossing his arms. "Just not in the past few days."

She groaned this time, dropping into the nearest chair. "You're going to make me go grey well before my time."

"This was for a good reason, though, El."

"All right, brother of mine. What's your good reason this time? Let me guess. It had to do with protecting her, didn't it? Wait! Did you go to that house willingly?" She widened her eyes.

Devon laughed and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, this is getting good, Chuckie."

"Will you please stop it, Devon? How old are you?" she snapped, giving him a look of disbelief.

"Thirty one years and seventy six days, gorgeous."

"That was a rhetorical question and you know it."

"Did you two want to hear what actually happened, or not?" Chuck asked.

Ellie pretended to zip her mouth shut, then dramatically gestured with her hand for him to continue. Devon just crossed his arms.

"Jay—er, for reference he was the big guy with shoulders that wouldn't quit—"

"Oh. His shoulders were amazing," Devon drawled, nodding. "I didn't say it then because he was holding a gun on me, but I have to admit, I wondered if he had a specific exercise regimen that—Sorry. Shutting up. Go on, brother." He cleared his throat.

"He showed up here and I didn't recognize him. That much was real. I didn't lie about that to the gendarme. He told me he was an investigator sent by the American consulate to help the Saint-Tropez police. He gave me a couple o' lines that were pretty convincing and got me to leave with him, made me think I was being arrested because he found the bracelet and wallet with the diamonds."

"Oh my God, Chuck. Did you just leave those—Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm interrupting. But it was extremely foolish to leave those out—I know. Go on. I'm not saying anything else." Ellie held her lips shut, rolling her eyes.

Chuck dropped the flat look he was giving his sister and sighed, smoothing his hand through his hair. "I thought I was in trouble, that I was going to spend the night in jail. Hence the overnight bag."

"Oh!" His brother-in-law's jaw fell open. "Ohhh! I think I just figured out the overnight bag. Charles Irving Bartowski, you dog…"

"What are you talking about?" Ellie asked, giving her husband a look. And then it must have dawned on her, too, and she made a face. "Oh, no. Nooo." She bobbed her eyebrows. "You know what? I can't deny, I'm impressed. She knows how to get what she wants."

"All right, that's almost a bit much for me, and I'm the one who reaped the benefits."

"Gross. Just finish the story."

"I can't deny, I'm interested." They both turned to look at Devon Woodcomb and he shrugged. "Sorry. But also..." He nudged Chuck's shoulder. "You dog."

Chuck pressed his lips together and sighed. "He told me I was going to the captain of the gendarmerie's house, we'd talk to them about the situation, and they'd decide whether I needed to go to the station and maybe even jail. But then we walked in and there she was." The melancholy set in then and he frowned deeply. "There she was."

"Yeah, I'm impressed," Ellie said, nodding resolutely. "She's impressive. A criminal and probably a little insane, but impressive."

"I know."

"So then what happened?" his brother-in-law asked, beaming like an idiot.

"Use your imagination," Chuck snapped.

"No, thank you." Ellie cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows. "So? Where is she? What's next? And why in God's name did she tie you to a chair?"

"I can think of—"

"Stop. It wasn't that," Chuck cut him off. "The gendarmes were coming so she and her friends tied me to the chair to divert suspicion and make it seem like they kidnapped me for money."

"Ingenious," Devon said, sitting on the couch arm beside his wife.

"They're good at what they do," he said, turning to look out of the balcony doors, staring at the French Riviera out in the distance. And he let himself wonder how far they'd gotten in the last seven hours since he last saw them. Where was she? Had they hopped on a plane to Lisbon? Was she already there? Or in the air? Or was it a more circuitous route they'd taken so as to throw off the scent of Interpol or anyone else looking for them outside of France? Or had she lied about Lisbon? That was equally possible.

"Chuck!"

He jumped and turned back to his family. "S-Sorry. I wasn't listening."

"I noticed," Ellie said, lowering her chin. "I asked you what happened after they left. Do you know where they're going?"

Lisbon, Portugal. At least, that was what she told him. She could've been lying, just to give him something. She could've just said the first place that popped into her head. Or she could really be going to Lisbon. He had no way of knowing for sure.

"No," he said, feeling guilty immediately. "She-She told me Portugal but I don't know if she would've told me the truth. She could've lied to keep me from following, to keep me safe. I don't know...anything."

"Wait, they're gone then?" Devon asked. "They split?"

"Of course they split," Ellie said, turning to look at him. "They've got millions of dollars worth of jewels and francs and the authorities are searching high and low for them. They nearly got caught at their hideout this morning because their leader was hanky-pankying with my brother—which is still just...madness. These are professionals, not amateurs. They'd do better to get as far away from Saint-Tropez as they can and I'm sure they know that."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. They're probably headed for the other side of the world."

He saw his sister lift a hand towards him in his peripheral, and when he lifted his head to look at her, he saw understanding in her green eyes. There was some sadness there, too. Smiling, he reached out to grab her hand, letting her give him a comforting squeeze.

"That's it, then?" she asked.

"It seemed clear. I tried my best."

"Did you?"

"Of course I did."

"As this family's designated champion of love, I, uh...I have to ask: You said you did your best. You mean you tried to get her to stay?" his brother-in-law asked.

"No. Well...it's complicated."

The blonde blew out a frustrated breath. "Bartowskis love nothing more than saying things are complicated. Complicated is your favorite word, both of you."

"Shut your mouth," Ellie admonished lightly.

"It's true."

Chuck shrugged. "He's right. We do." His sister just gave him a storm cloud look for agreeing with Devon. "It isn't safe for her here. Obviously. But just calling it quits, backing away from what we have altogether...Well, that wasn't what I was hoping for. I, um...love her. She tied me to that chair, told me she loved me, said she was too much trouble for me, and then she ran. And there was...nothing I could do about it."

The pain came back, growing from a dull throb to an incredible ache in his chest.

"Oh...Damn, ol' pal. Just like that?" Devon asked, rising to his full height.

"Just like that," he said, pushing a hand through his curls.

His brother-in-law closed the distance and wrapped him up in a tight, strong hug. It felt...genuinely good. And Chuck hugged him back just as tightly. "I'm sorry, Chuckie. Maybe you'll see her again someday."

"I don't know if I will," he admitted, letting go of his brother and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She's not just stubborn. She's a criminal mastermind." He smirked. "If she never wants me to find her, if she never wants to see me ever again, I'm not going to be able to find her. Even if I look for the rest of my life. No matter how much money I spend, how many resources I use, to try to find her. She's too smart. She cares too much."

Ellie had a small smile on her face which was...curious.

"What?" he asked, reaching out with his foot and poking her leg with the toe of his shoe.

"Hm? Oh. I just...She was protecting you. That was why she ran. That's why she stopped your...romance or whatever it was. To keep you safe. From her. From what she does." She hugged herself and shrugged. "I suppose I didn't really believe she actually loved you."

"Oh, El. For shame," Devon admonished.

"What? It seemed purely physical…sex...You know what? I don't want to go down that path. I thought it was a whirlwind romance and Chuck would get it out of his system and live a little, and then it'd be done. But you—Well, she really loves you, doesn't she?"

"Yeah. She does. That's what drives me crazy, sis. I know we have what it takes to find a way."

"Not without both of you making some big changes to your lives. She's a criminal, Chuck."

"I know that. She repeated it about thirteen hundred times just last night alone. I'm in love with a jewel thief, a con artist. I understand that. I'm just not sure she's willing to compromise."

"Are you?" Devon asked.

"I know I'm more than willing to try."

"And she isn't," Ellie asked, or said. He wasn't sure if it was a question or not, but she was watching him searchingly.

"I think she might be. If I'd just gotten more time." He walked over to the couch and slumped onto it, turning his face into the cushion. "It hurts, Ellie."

His sister put her hand on his head and leaned in to kiss his temple. "I know. Love can be cruel." She sighed. "But maybe...just maybe...she did the right thing." He frowned darkly at her. "Let me rephrase. Maybe she was doing what she absolutely thought was the right thing. And Chuck, if you love her, if you respect her, you have to give her credit, and understand why she did what she did."

"I know," he said. "But as much as she thought she did the right thing, as much as I respect and love her for it, we could've made this work."

"I don't know if you'd like the opinion of the champion of love again, ol' sport, but I just have to insert that there were—er, uh... _are_ quite a few, shall we say, hurdles. I mean, between you two and making it work. You're in the public eye quite a bit, brother. And her safety…nay, her entire survival, rather depends on her staying out of the public eye. Opposites attract and everything, but this is pushing it."

Chuck huffed. He knew Devon was right. He knew there were barriers and hurdles and… Well, honestly, there was a full-blown minefield between them. Active mines were everywhere. Maybe she had done the right thing.

But he just knew she hadn't. He loved her too hard. And he knew beyond all doubt that she loved him back. He saw how much it hurt her to leave him behind, to tell him no and sever ties instead of trying to find him again and make this work.

"I just don't know why we couldn't try when we both wanted it so damn much," he murmured. "I could see how much she wanted it, how difficult it was for her not to give in and agree to try."

His sister stroked his hair. "I'm so sorry, Chuck."

He sat up again and let out a long sigh. "She probably thinks I'm going to find someone on the right side of the law, some socialite, get married, have children, forget about her."

"Are you?" Ellie asked, and he could see the doubt on her face. She knew him too well.

"Of course I'm not. Not when I know she's out there somewhere. There's no one in the world like her."

"And what if you do find her again?"

"Take her in your arms, tell her you love her, and beg, my good man. Beg like your life depends on it," Devon said.

"Thank you, love champion," he droned at his brother-in-law.

"It's champion of love, a'thank you."

"How is that different?" Chuck asked, shaking his head. "If I find her again, I'm going to…" He huffed. "Take her in my arms, tell her I love her, and beg. Like my life depends on it." He chuckled as Devon reached down and clapped him on the shoulder lovingly.

"Ellie, I'm different." He met his sister's gaze steadily.

"I know. I see it."

"Is it a good different?"

"It's pretty good, yeah." She smiled and fixed his jacket lapel. "I've never seen you fight like this before. You have a fire in your eyes. There's determination in you, in spite of potentially having just watched what could be the love of your life...walk out of your life forever."

"Wowie, El. Thanks for that."

She winced. "Sorry. But it's true. Even with what happened to you, you're…"

"Alive. There was never any fight in me before. Losing Mom and Pop really sucked it out of me. And being in the position we're in, with the family fortune and everything, I really didn't have to. I still don't but I want to. I want to fight for her. So hard."

His sister let him see the pride in her face as she leaned in to hug him tight. "Then fight."

"She's a criminal. A thief."

"Yes, well...nobody's perfect. Isn't that what you said?"

He pulled back. "I've met too many perfect women, Ellie. I'm more than done with that." He sagged then. "But my magnificent, flawed, enigmatic robber woman is...gone. And that's something I'm…" He growled in frustration and fought back the ache, holding his head in both hands. "I'm gonna have to come to terms with it somehow. Someday."

"First, take a bath. It'll help relax you. And let me send this wrinkled suit down to the hotel laundry to have it cleaned and pressed, because it looks terrible."

Chuck let out a snort and shrugged the suit jacket off, tossing it to his sister who did the usual thing she did with his and her husband's jackets and pants: she checked all of the pockets.

"What's this?" She pulled her hand out of the breast pocket of his jacket. A piece of folded paper was trapped between her fingers. "Are you leaving notes for yourself again, Chuck? You know, they don't check pockets in hotel laundries. You could've gotten white paper fuzz all over your clothes."

"I...didn't put that there," he said, furrowing his brow.

"You didn't…Then who did?"

Chuck and Ellie gave one another a wide eyed look and he reached out and snatched it from her fingers, unfolding it as Devon let out a, "Oh ho hoooo! This is getting good!"

"It's an address in Lisbon. With a date. The nineteenth, that's...four days from now, isn't it?"

"Yes. Wait, Lisbon? That's in Portugal."

Chuck read the address over and over. It had to be Sarah. And he thought for a moment that she had left it for him, tricked him again, but then he unfolded the last flap at the bottom to reveal a signature: "Red", with a "P.S. Do NOT let me down, Trust Fund".

"Me" obviously being C, Carina, the redheaded robber. _Do NOT let me down_. Not us. Which meant Sarah most likely hadn't been involved in this.

"How did she…?" He gaped. "She helped S—her boss tie me to the chair. She must've slipped this in my jacket pocket while she was doing that."

"Are you saying that's her address? The robber? I-I mean the woman you love?"

"It has to be. She told me Lisbon. This note is signed "Red", like the redheaded robber at the store. And look at this here, at the bottom." He thrusted the note out for them to read.

"Do _NOT_ let me down," Ellie read aloud, leaning in.

"She said that to me before she left the room, before she left her boss and I alone. And now here it is, written on this note. This has to be the address of where my robber is going to be on this date."

"This is too fascinating," Devon said, practically vibrating in excitement. "What are you going to do now, Chuck? Huh?"

Both of them waited on his answer with bated breath and he smirked, holding the note up between his fingers. "I was thinking maybe an extension of our holiday. What do the both of you say to Lisbon?"

}o{

She held onto her suitcase like it was a lifeline, her knuckles white from how hard she was clutching it.

They bumped along the cobblestone road towards the docks and she watched out the back window to make sure nobody was tailing them along the journey. According to Zondra, they'd just made it out of there on time.

And now Sarah was sitting in the backseat of the car with her own bags, her luggage, filled with dresses and shoes and disguises and everything else she'd needed to successfully pull of the biggest robbery they'd done in at least a year and a half.

So far, they had been successful.

And she kept her eyes on the road behind them to make sure it stayed that way.

But it was hard to see through the tears in her eyes, and she blinked to let them fall so that she could keep watch. It was incredibly important she stayed focused and on task during this crucial part of their escape.

She hugged the suitcase closer to her chest and took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. She was focused. She was absolutely focused. But everything inside of her hurt.

Chuck Bartowski's voice was still in her ears. He'd sounded so desperate as he tried to call out her name through the gag. And she knew by the look in his eye that he was well aware of her answer before she even told it to him. Not just because he was perceptive in general, but he was perceptive to her in particular. She'd felt it these last two days. He saw behind the mask she was careful to wear with literally everyone, even the three people she was closest with—her team and family. She could say one thing and think she'd been convincing, and Chuck would so clearly see the other thing beneath it.

Sarah Walker had never met anyone like him before. She'd never been faced with a person who saw her so clearly, who understood her. Men admired her. She wasn't completely naive about being blessed with good looks. She even used it to her advantage in her work.

She'd slept with men before—Charles Irving Bartowski certainly wasn't her first. But none of them had known she was the Ice Queen. To them, she'd just been a beautiful and "fascinating" woman. She could've slept with Chuck that first night. She'd felt the undeniable lust there between them. It was so sudden and so powerful that it felt like she was smacked in the face with it, honestly.

And she knew that if she'd stayed there instead of running the moment he turned to clap for the band, they would have ended up spending the rest of the night together. As much as he'd teased her about his being a "bad boy", as much as she knew he really wasn't as bad as he pretended, she didn't put it outside of the realm of possibility that he would sleep with a woman he'd just met that night. If they were both amenable to it. And she was terrified of just how amenable she'd been. Maybe that was why she'd hastened away from him without thinking twice. She'd let her feet take her as far from him as they could go, as fast as they could go.

That wasn't something she'd ever done before. But he was a Bartowski. He was important and, frankly, an untouchable. That had been one of her personal rules, hadn't it? Not to mess around with people who were in the public eye—don't steal from them, don't even make contact with them. That was asking for trouble.

Apparently she'd eventually ignored it. Apparently she liked trouble.

She courted trouble.

She more than courted trouble if the last ten hours were any indication. She fell in love with it and opened doors for it that she'd never opened for anyone else before.

"Sarah, we clear?"

"So far," she said, making her voice as even as possible. She didn't turn back, knowing they'd see the tears on her face if she did. Again. They'd seen them when she first jumped into the back of the car and yelled, "GO GO GO!"

And because they were her girls, neither of them had asked if she was all right. Neither of them acknowledged the tears rolling down her cheeks that she furiously wiped away. They knew she wasn't all right. But she was the boss—she'd eventually be all right.

She would be.

She'd just walked away from the love of her life, though. She'd literally run away.

And while she'd be all right, she'd never get over this. She'd never forget it. The thrill of being with someone she knew loved her more than anyone ever had before. She supposed that wasn't exactly a high bar, though, because she suspected no man had ever really loved her—the idea of her, perhaps. She, Carina, and Zondra had laughed over a column some jackass in New York had written about the Ice Queen being the "perfect woman". He'd opined about being in love with her, though he'd never been one of her "victims". Jay had crunched the column up in his fist and kicked it out the nearest window, calling it "garbage".

That was all the admiration and love Sarah was used to. Suits in offices writing about the beautiful, beguiling con woman, the jewel thief who was a female version of Cary Grant. On and on and on about the sexy, dangerous woman who was making off with prized jewels and somehow not being caught when she got rid of them.

Being with Chuck last night and into this morning, even just the dancing, their walk up to the hill overlooking the Riviera, lying in bed talking, had been an unrivaled experience. She knew now what it felt like to be loved, without conditions. He knew who she was and what she did for a living. He knew she was the famed Ice Queen. But he saw the woman underneath, the person underneath. And he was in love with her.

It wasn't just fascination.

She would've chalked it up to that in the beginning, on the dance floor. He'd been fascinated by her looks, she'd been fascinated by the fact that he was not anything like how she'd thought he'd be—a rich socialite who was an entitled jerk.

Even when she first walked into that jewelry store, after he'd gotten over the shock of seeing her with a gun in her hand, he'd settled right into their banter. It was undeniably sexy. And surprising.

That, she might've chalked up to the same thing those columnists talked about. She imagined a woman like her, a mystery wrapped in more mystery, widely described as beautiful by witnesses, was incredibly desirable to a man who was bored with his life.

Until said woman showed up to rob them with a gun in her hand.

And yet, Chuck's interest had immediately gone past that. In the safe, he'd butted heads with her. They stood toe to toe, exchanging barbs, then turned around and flirted in the same breath. It was invigorating. Maybe she'd been in love with him already by then. She wasn't sure.

All she knew was that she'd fallen in love with him before last night. Before she quite nearly outright told him she loved him the night before. On the floor of his suite after they'd accidentally rolled off of the couch.

And she knew beyond all doubt that nothing would ever change that.

She would love him forever. She sounded like a lovesick teenager, but she embraced it. For once she was feeling something. For once she was alive. She was a lovesick teenager over this man and she would let herself feel finally. She would let herself feel these ridiculous melodramatic things.

But she wouldn't let herself be with him and ruin his life, as horrifically heartbreaking as it had been pulling herself away from him. She just wanted to stay. And she didn't want him to hate her for doing this to him. He'd tried so hard to get her to agree to be with him. It was all she wanted in the world, more than the damn jewels they'd stashed in various places to take to Lisbon with them, more than the gold jewelry on the boat Jay'd be piloting back with Philandro. She wanted to be with Chuck Bartowski.

She couldn't destroy him like that, though.

And it would. Eventually.

He was an untouchable. She'd fallen for an untouchable. She'd made love to him, let him make love to her, and she'd opened herself to him in a way she never thought she would to anybody.

While he thought that counted for something, while she'd let him think she might agree to continue their fairy tale romance, she knew how it had to be.

That wasn't even true, either. She'd been so close to telling him they could try. The thought of meeting him somewhere far off where nobody knew them, where they could be together and in love, even if it was just for a few days once or twice a year, was so much nicer than the thought of never seeing him again.

But he deserved better than that.

He deserved a life partner.

And she couldn't be that.

She wanted to be that.

She wanted it so bad she'd even let herself picture it for a moment. Seeing him over a breakfast table every morning, falling asleep in his arms every night, knowing every minute of every day that he was hers…

But seeing him tied to that chair, knowing her life could never be normal in the way he'd want it to be, the way he deserved for it to be, she'd backtracked. Maybe she was a coward for this.

She just loved him too much to ruin his life.

The car stopped then, Zondra having guided them into the overnight garage a block away from the dock where their getaway boat was waiting for them.

The three of them climbed out of the car, grabbed Sarah's bags, and spirited away through the early morning shadows, careful not to let anyone see them. Perhaps it wouldn't be suspicious to see three beautiful women with luggage walking through the docks in Saint-Tropez a few days after three beautiful women and a man had been witnessed robbing the Chellequin jewelry store…but none of them felt like taking chances.

Sarah got to the boat first and handed her suitcase off to Philandro who'd scrambled down the plank towards them. "Hurry!" he whispered as the brunette and redhead rushed onto the boat with Sarah's remaining bags. He followed after them as Sarah untied the boat and threw the rope up to Jay who waited for them on the deck.

Kicking her heels off and grabbing them in her hands, she sprinted up the plank onto the boat, and helped Philandro pull it up. Jay took his spot in the wheelhouse. The motor revved beneath them and they pulled out of the cluster of boats, onto the open water, and finally made it safely into the Riviera.

They passed small fishing boats and early morning sailors, making their way down to the island of Calvi, which would be about a six or seven hour trip if Jay didn't hurry. They weren't trying to look suspicious, however, so the trip might be closer to seven hours.

And that was seven hours of subtle glances from Zondra and Carina that had an unfortunate amount of sympathy and unsureness all wrapped into one.

She sought to get away from those glances, slipping down belowdecks, alone, dropping her heels next to some of their luggage and slumping down onto the bench. It smelled like old fish and seawater down here. She didn't care. She just wanted to sit here and let herself have a moment.

First, however, she glanced towards the far end of the room and saw the suitcases of jewelry sitting there. Good ol' Philandro.

Though she was sure Carina, and then Jay, had kept a close watch on the fellow, in spite of how far he and Jay went back—an American and a Frenchman, saving each other's lives during the recapturing of Marseilles almost ten years ago in war-torn southern France. She supposed that kind of situation instilled quite a bit of trust in people.

The important thing was that they'd gotten away from Saint-Tropez with millions of francs' worth of jewelry and gems. Chuck had provided them with piles of francs from the store safe as well. Not that he'd had a choice.

Or had he?

She knew now that she couldn't have hurt him if he'd refused. Who was she kidding? She'd even known it then. Though he probably hadn't been aware of it.

She missed him. They'd driven away from the hideout an hour ago and she missed him already. The fact that she'd never see him again might've had a lot to do with it. She missed him, she missed him, she missed him.

She wished she'd looked back again, even if just the one last time.

Sarah pulled her knees to her chest and rounded her legs with her arms, dropping her forehead and letting out a long breath. The tears started again as she felt the ache reach through her chest, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

He was in the public eye. That wasn't something that would be changing anytime soon. Not for her. Even though he'd promised he'd be able to, she wasn't sure anyone could give up something like that so easy. In theory, if you loved someone enough, you might be able to.

But this was reality.

And she found that reality was much harsher than it had any right to be.

That was why she was currently sitting in the belly of a fishing boat, tears running down her face, her heart hurting worse than she ever remembered it hurting before.

She heard the sound of the hatch popping open after a few more minutes of self-pitying and crying, and she quickly rubbed at her face, trying to get rid of the evidence as fast as she could.

Carina gracefully climbed down the steep, narrow staircase and shut the hatch behind her, turning to face Sarah and giving her a knowing look. "Get all of that out or do you need a few more minutes?" she asked.

Sarah rolled her eyes and gave up on trying to hide the fact that she'd been on the verge of sobbing for the last ten minutes that she sat down here alone. "Please, shut up."

"Just answer me one thing. If you don't mind."

"I mind," Sarah said, sniffling.

Carina continued as though she hadn't heard her, grabbing a stool and pulling it over so that she could sit in front of her boss, her best friend. "That grand idea I had to get Mr. Trust Fund back in your orbit again... Did I completely blow it?"

The blonde frowned in confusion at her redheaded friend. "Blow it?"

"Yeah." She waved her hand in a dismissive way. "Maybe it would have been better if you didn't have that last night with him. Maybe this wouldn't be happening. You sitting here bawling your eyes out, I mean."

Sarah let out a sigh and shook her head, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the others walking around above them on the top deck. It was almost a comforting sound. "No. I'm grateful to you. And to Zondra and Jay for going along with it, letting it…" She felt the tears come again and she growled in frustration, wiping them away and stopping herself from talking altogether.

"You had to get him out of your system, huh?"

She didn't know how to answer that. So she shrugged.

"That was why I did it. So you could get fast with the rich boy, with the hope that would make it easier to purge him out of your mind. It's what I've had to do before. Making eyes at a fella has a way of getting him stuck under your skin. One roll in the hay and I'm all right. I can move on. Got 'im out of my system." She brushed her hands off and shrugged. "Voila."

Sarah gaped. "Was that why you did this whole thing? The plan to get Chuck to the hideout and leaving us alone for the night. So that I could...have sex with him and get him out of my system?"

Carina tilted her head and shrugged. "Yeah. It didn't work, and now I guess I sorta feel bad. I guess I just didn't think about the chance that maybe you aren't like me in that way."

She found herself chuckling a bit, shaking her head. "Don't feel bad. Please. Your reasoning was...strange. But honestly, you allowed for me to have the best night of my life. It...changed things for me. In me. And if I could go back, I'd do it all over again. Even knowing how much I'm hurting now. How much he's...probably…" She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I know he hates me now."

"You don't know that. There's no way you could know that." She pursed her lips. "There's a way you could find out, though."

"As much as I appreciate last night, I'm not sure I need another one of your ideas, Red."

"No, this is a good one. Hear me out. Send him a little note to his hotel, invite him to Lisbon."

Sarah held up a hand. "No. Carina. No."

"Why not? If you miss him so bad, if you love him…"

"The whole point of my leaving him there in the first place was to keep him safe. And you want me to send a note to his hotel, which is probably still being watched by gendarmes because he was found tied up in the bedroom this morning, for all intents and purposes having been kidnapped. 'Oh remember me? The robber you're in love with? Meet me in Lisbon at this address. Signed, the Ice Queen.' That's perfect, Carina. Wondrous idea."

"Hey, cut the sarcasm, Blondie. It was just a thought. You're a wreck."

"I am not."

"You are too." The redhead poked her shoulder. "If I'd known you were this deep in with our Trust Fund kid, I might not have suggested last night."

"Why not?" Sarah asked, curious.

"When you fall in love with someone out of bed, dragging him into bed will only make you love 'em more. Unless they're utterly terrible lovers. He wasn't a terrible lover, was he?"

"No!" Sarah snapped defensively. And then she realized she'd just fallen into Carina's trap and she crossed her arms. "Don't read into that." Nobody needed to know about what had happened in her bed last night. Nobody except for her and Chuck. It was hers, and hers alone. Something she'd think about when she was lonely, something she'd remember for the rest of her life.

"Too late. I already did." She clapped slowly. "I'm impressed with Mr. Trust Fund."

"When will you stop calling him that?"

"Never."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

"I just don't understand. If you love him that much, why don't you want to see him again?"

She shook her head. "It isn't that I don't want to see him again. I do want that. More than anything in the world, and—" She stopped, eyeing her friend. "Listen, you don't have to hear all of this. We can just stop talking about it, actually. I'm going to be fine."

"Of course you're gonna be fine," Carina said, poking her leg with the toe of her flat-heeled shoe she wore. "You're Sarah. You're a criminal mastermind. You're always fine. You're fine now." She shrugged. "That doesn't mean you have to be heartbroken, though. At least…not alone."

More tears squeaked out and she dabbed at them with her fingers this time. "I am heartbroken." She bit her lip. "But I broke my own heart. It was all me. Maybe it's better if he hates me for what I did. Maybe he'll get over it faster."

"Hm. We'll see."

Sarah studied her closely. "What?"

"You, I mean. About you. We'll see." Carina waved that away. "It doesn't matter, Sarah. What matters is that your whole life is ahead of you, and we've got this massive take." Sarah nodded, frowning. "And all you can do is sit here with this sad-sack look on your face because you just walked away from someone you love. Genuinely. I guess I just don't get it."

She let out a frustrated huff. "Do you think this life is safe for him?"

"No, of course not. As much as he lied to the police the last few days, and as well as he lied apparently, he'd be the worst criminal."

"He'd be terrible at it. His heart is too big. And anyway, everyone knows who he is. His picture's all over the papers in America and in Europe. His parents' deaths canonized him in the public eye for the rest of his life. And if he tried to enfold himself into this world—my world—that life wouldn't be all that long." She shivered at the thought and sniffed sadly. "This is what's best for him, Carina, and you know it's true."

"Ugh, I hate that."

"Me, too."

"No, I hate when people say 'this is what's best for them' about someone else." Sarah blinked in surprise. "You might be right. Maybe this life would kill him. But he's an adult as much as Z and I called him a trust fund baby, and you made the choice for both of you instead of listening to him."

"Carina, come on. He doesn't know what it's really like, the messiness of the con game, how incredibly dangerous robbery is as a career. Jay has a scar on his back from a bullet he caught."

"Jury's out on whether that's from this career or the one he had before it. He did fight in the war, after all."

"All right, fair enough. But we've been shot at."

"We have been."

"What if that rich boy was crazy enough—stupid enough—to try it anyway? What if he did make that leap into my world?" She let out a scoff and hugged herself, pulling her legs in closer and looking off to the side. "It would ruin him. Not just his life, but…him. People like him see what we do and glamorize it. As though this is just a big adventure. Like it is in movies."

"You think it would change him? Harden him?"

"Yes. It hardened me."

"Mmmhm. You're so hard you fell in love with a sweet-faced, tall, gangly rich boy with curly hair and brown puppy-dog eyes, you mushy-hearted so-and-so."

Sarah gave her friend an annoyed look. "Even the hardest woman would've fallen for him. The way he looks at me. Like none of this—this," she gestured to the loot at the other side of the boat, "—matters. He makes me feel like a woman, like _myself_. Not just a thief or a con artist."

"What, like he puts those things to the side and sees who you are underneath?"

"Not just that," Sarah breathed. "It's hard to explain but…" She huffed. "He takes the fact that I'm a robber, a jewel thief, a con artist along with everything else. It's almost as though he loves me, not in spite of it. It's a part of who I am and he…adores who I am. I can feel it and see it."

"How is that even possible? Considering who his parents are."

"I don't know," she said, wiping at her cheek as a few more tears rolled down from her bright blue eyes. "I don't understand it. I tried to. I asked him. He just waxed poetic, a lot of non-answers."

"Maybe he doesn't understand, either."

Sarah shrugged. "Maybe not. And maybe that's what will help him get past this, get over me. Put me in the past."

Carina snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come now, Boss. Sarah." She looked her right in the eye and leaned in. "You don't really want him to forget about you. Do you?"

"If it makes his life easier, yes." She sniffled.

"You gonna try to forget about him?"

"No," she said immediately.

"Even if it makes your life easier?"

"Even then. Because as much as it hurts right now, knowing it can never be more than it was last night, knowing I'll never see him again," she squeezed her eyes shut tight and willed herself to swallow the threatening sob. When the moment passed, she opened her eyes again, her chin quivering. "He's made me different—happy. I don't see myself the way I did even four days ago. I think in a lot of ways I hated myself."

"What?" Carina tilted her head in confusion, and Sarah was reminded that this woman was almost a carbon copy of her in a lot of ways, especially after they'd started working jobs together. But there was something else there when it came to Carina—something that made her different. She had a good heart and a good soul, but whatever part of the human brain, or heart, that held the ability to feel remorse was missing in the redhead. She had no shame, no regrets. Especially not about what their job entailed.

Sarah hadn't been blessed with that ability, and maybe it would've made it a lot easier to be a criminal. She'd knocked guards out, hurt innocent people. And she'd lost sleep. Carina slept soundly.

So this concept of Sarah having a hard view of herself for everything she'd done, everything she was, wouldn't make much sense to the redhead.

"Being a criminal doesn't always lend itself to having a positive view of myself, Red. The people from my past, the way I've…been treated…the way I've treated myself…It's all made me…" she winced, "have a lack of self-esteem. A big hole was where my self-esteem should be. Never thought I was more than a thief. Not that it ever made me wanna survive less. But there it is."

"Sar, that's very melodramatic."

She giggled. "I know. It's true, though. It's how I felt. Chuck, he…Well, he filled that hole." She knew the moment she said the words that Carina would get that certain look on her face, and the redhead didn't let her down. "Stop it," she drawled, smirking.

"You said it."

"I meant he's given me self-esteem."

"And he also filled y—"

"Stop." Sarah pointed in warning.

"Well." Carina climbed up to her feet and dusted off the backside of her pale green capri pants. "All I can say about that is it's probably not the best idea to derive all of your self-worth from a smelly ol' boy."

"I know. And it's not like that," she said with a small smile, looking up at Carina. "It isn't that he loves me and therefore I must be better than I ever thought I was. Being with him, even just last night and this morning, has shown me parts of myself I never knew existed."

"Like a mushy heart?"

She giggled. "Not just that. He's made me realize I'm…human. Real. Capable of being more."

"More than human?" Carina asked in confusion.

"No. More than…what I always thought I was. Which was next to nothing. I always just thought that I was…nothing. And thinking about Chuck reminds me that I'm not nothing. I'm very much…a something." She shrugged and smiled down at the wooden floorboards.

"I'll be honest with you, Blondie, you're making no sense to me. But whatever gets you through this, I suppose." She reached down her hands. "Come on. We've got a few hours we're stuck on this boat 'til we get to Calvi and hop on our plane to Vacationville." Sarah let her help her to her feet. "Wipe those tears and let's get up on deck to scope the sights, huh?"

But her voice cut out when Sarah wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tight. She couldn't help it. As the other woman stood ramrod still, seemingly not knowing what to do as she was obviously unaccustomed to this kind of contact, especially not from her boss, Sarah felt the urge to cry again. And she did.

She felt Carina's arms slowly close around her.

"Aw, kid. You're really broken up, huh? I mean, this is serious, isn't it? You're serious about that trust fund." Sarah felt Carina shrug in her embrace. "I get it. It's a lot of money."

That made the younger woman laugh, pulling back and wiping at the tears. "So much money," she teased back. "And if I'm being honest, I wouldn't mind being locked up with that man in a room that has a bed again. Mmmmm."

Carina broke away and laughed hard, leading the way to the steps that would bring them back up on deck. "I'm pleasantly surprised. Didn't think he had it in him."

"Oh, I did," Sarah chirped. "The moment he met my eyes across that craps table, I knew he was a firecracker."

"Christ, Boss…" the older woman said, sending a look over her shoulder.

"You ever feel like your skin is sizzling? Like your blood is boiling over?"

"All right, enough."

"What? I thought you liked talking about this sort of thing…"

* * *

 **A/N:** Next chapter will be out soon! Until then...sail safe.

-SC


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I have to say, this might be the penultimate chapter of the story. It just might be. I wrote this story in like a week and a half and it was so much fun and I'm glad 99 percent of you were on this ride with me. The other 1 percent, y'all need to chill and sort out your priorities a little bit because yikes.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK, or its characters. I'm not making any money from this story.

* * *

Sarah slammed her book shut and tossed it onto the end of her lounge chair on which she'd splayed herself out after taking a dip in the pool.

For what was supposed to be a vacation, this wasn't panning out to be as enjoyable as she'd wanted it to be.

Zondra's smart mouth had nearly gotten them into trouble at the airport in Barcelona. They'd pegged her as a non-Spaniard Spanish speaker and it proved to be enough of a hit on her ego that she'd snapped at them. The jewels hidden in the lining of their suitcases prompted Zondra to finally give in and apologize to the airport workers, and they'd finally climbed onto the plane to make their way to their final destination—Lisbon, Portugal.

But the air had been tense between the three of them after that. And before that, Sarah hadn't been in the right state of mind to really enjoy the beautiful sights of Spain's most artistic city. Luckily, they'd only had two days there before moving on.

They arrived in Lisbon yesterday and all that remained was for them to wait for Jay to catch up with them. The loot had to make it up the hill to the house that a Mrs Georgia Winters owned. Twice divorced and basking in her ex-husbands' monthly checks to continue her lifestyle.

That was the story Sarah had come up with in her mind when she'd made the purchase with Georgia Winters' account three years ago. It was something she could abandon whenever she had to, no strings attached.

And it was the perfect base for them to regroup, figure out how and where to sell whatever they'd stolen, take their payments, and plan the next job. It was a few hours on a plane to get anywhere in Western Europe from Lisbon, and it had quick access to the water in case they had to make their escape that way.

But now she was here, in Lisbon, and she had nothing but time on her hands. She'd discovered in the last four days since she walked out of that house in Saint-Tropez that having time on her hands meant having the youngest Bartowski heir on her brain. It was constant and it was brutal.

She'd read this entire historical romance in just one day, thinking that reading a book that was written in French would require her to concentrate more on it, force her to push anything else but that out of her head, stop the distracting thoughts of him from flooding her mind.

It hadn't worked.

Maybe because the heroine had morphed into an eighteenth century French maiden version of herself while she was reading. And of course, the "dark-haired, dashing rogue" who'd swept the heroine off her feet had become Chuck in her mind. And over the course of a weeks-long journey through the Strait of Gibraltar and up into the French Riviera, of course they'd fallen in love around the action and adventure. While the robber found herself missing her own dark-haired "rogue" more and more with each page she read.

Because the rogue in the pages paled as a man compared to Chuck Bartowski.

The rogue in the pages had stymied his maiden's individuality in many ways. He was a terrible listener, constantly cutting Henrietta off when she spoke, flying into jealous rages over her speaking to his crewmembers…

Granted, she hadn't known Chuck long enough to really experience what he was like in most situations. They hadn't taken a sea trip together for weeks on end. She hadn't had a chance to see if he was capable of jealousy. She didn't know what it was like to wake up in the morning, turn over, and see him sleeping there beside her, unshaven, his hair mussed from sleep. She didn't even know what he looked like when he was asleep, did she? They hadn't allowed themselves the privilege of sleep that night, instead striving to make the most of every last moment they'd have together, knowing it could never happen again.

She'd known, at least.

He'd still been trying so hard for more, more time with her, more time together, a promise they'd meet again at some point, all the way to that last moment when she left him behind, tied to the chair, the handkerchief keeping him from saying all of the things he probably wanted to say.

She wished now that she'd let him say them.

If only to hear his voice one last time. Maybe one last "I love you" from him might've made this easier. Or maybe she'd known he'd convince her if she let him say anything else. And that was why she'd gagged him.

No, she'd gagged him to further the narrative for the gendarmes that she'd kidnapped Chuck and had to flee before she could get anything out of him.

Sarah had been eager for news of him, wanting to find anything that mentioned the incident. She'd looked at any newspaper she could find along the way to Lisbon, and all she could find was a small mention that authorities were still searching for the jewel thieves in cities along the French Riviera.

Did people with the kind of money the Bartowskis had pay off newspapers to keep their names out of them, she wondered? Charles Bartowski being kidnapped by the robbers seemed like it might warrant some coverage by the press. Or did Chuck untie himself and escape?

Truly, she didn't know what had happened after she walked out of that room. She dove into the backseat of the getaway car and that was that.

Either way, he wasn't mentioned anywhere except that he and his sister and her husband had been present at the Chellequin when it was robbed and that no one had been harmed during the robbery.

She was disappointed, to say the least. She'd hoped for maybe a picture of him, or some mention of him having been found in the robbers' hideout. Anything.

Sarah huffed and slumped back against the chair again, pulling her wide-brimmed straw hat off of her head and covering her face with it.

The worst part about all of this was that she was dwelling enough on Chuck that it was playing tricks on her mind. Her heart was starting to get the better of her brain. And she found a part of her was wondering if she'd really done the right thing or not. What if she'd just assumed she knew what the right thing was? What if she didn't know what was right or wrong and she'd just run in the other direction because she was afraid of how intense the love affair had been in just those two nights they'd spent together?

What if all of this was just her running?

She sat up and pulled her hat from her face, slamming it down over the book she'd just done the same thing to. Pushing her hands through her hair, she thought she might be going mad. That would explain everything. That would explain this romance in the first place.

She fell for the worst possible person a criminal could fall for because she'd snapped, and her subconscious was trying to sabotage her existence as a jewel thief. And now she was going absolutely mad over a man who spent his own existence in the spotlight.

The worst possible person to fall for.

And the best.

He was the best.

He'd changed everything. He'd changed her.

She wasn't mad at all. And she knew it. She was perfectly sane. Wreckless, damaged, hard, cold… but still sane.

She'd fallen in love with Chuck Bartowski because he was worth falling in love with, even if she'd had to run away from it, away from him. She meant what she'd said. She wasn't enough for him. Maybe nobody was enough for him. But she definitely wasn't. She was too much trouble.

He tried to say he wanted more trouble. She'd listened to him, and she'd understood him. His life had become stagnant and he thought that she'd brought him out of it, made him want more, want to experience more.

She believed him.

But he didn't understand what her existence really consisted of. He hadn't seen the way she, Zondra, and Carina had to hide amidst the crates of dried albacore in the belly of the boat when a patrol had stopped Philandro during the journey to Calvi, right before they'd pulled into the dock.

They'd nearly been found and would have been but for the clever intervention from Jay.

Or the time she'd been clipped by a bullet from a bank guard's pistol making her escape after a robbery gone south. The scar was light, just above her hipbone, but it was a frightening reminder of just how close she'd come to dying.

This wasn't some glamorous caper film. It was real life.

And there was no way anyone who wasn't in the trenches, so to speak, could know what it was really like to be a jewel thief, a con artist. She wasn't complaining. At this point, she was successful enough that she could make the choice to leave it behind whenever she wanted to. But she chose to stay. This was her life. It was all she knew. All she wanted.

It wasn't all she wanted. She also wanted Chuck. She wanted him in her life. But he wasn't made for this life.

And that was why she was here, sitting beside the bean-shaped pool, alone and upset, but especially resolute. Chuck Bartowski would eventually find someone who was an adventure, like she was, but without the extra baggage. Without the risk and acute danger. Perhaps he'd find an interesting woman whose moral compass worked better than the Ice Queen's did.

But God, how she wanted him.

What if Sarah did fix her moral compass? What if she decided to change everything, leave all of this behind, and settle into his life? She knew he wouldn't want her to slip into a perfect mold, the way other women he'd been with had. He'd made it clear to her that this was why he'd fallen in love with her.

She was messier than that. She supposed someone else might be offended by that, but she wasn't. In a lot of ways, he was saying she was more human than those other women. And that he personally preferred real people to perfection.

But she was more than he'd bargained for.

And she wouldn't last long in his world, just as he wouldn't last long in hers.

A clean break was...for the best.

Was it?

 _And therein lies the problem_ , she thought grumpily to herself.

Now that she was four days removed from their quick escape to Calvi, she couldn't decide if it was for the best or not.

She should chalk it up to the fact that she missed him so terribly. It was scrambling her brain, and her heart was taking over where her confused brain was dropping the ball. If she could just get to a place where she was filled with simple happiness, like how a sweet memory from the past might make her feel, that would be perfect. When thinking about him meant happiness and warmth, instead of painful longing that made her fingers and toes tingle in a terrible way, and her chest ache relentlessly.

She thought back to that first night, when she'd made him dance with her. And the band had played...

And as she swung her legs around to lie on the lounge again, feeling the Portuguese sun beat down on her sunscreen slathered skin, she let her eyes slip shut.

Sarah heard her own voice start to hum the tune of the song that the band played that night, the way she had countless times since. "But in your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me," she crooned quietly, slowly…

Her voice drawled prettily, carrying across the small, green pool yard.

"Hmm hmmm hmm but I linger on, dear," she sang, filling in words she didn't know with more humming. "Still craving your kiss. Hmmm hmmm hmm hmm hmm just saying this…"

She let her arms go limp, imagining how he'd held her that night, even though they'd barely met mere minutes before. He'd held her much closer than was probably appropriate in public, and she'd felt acutely where each of his fingers touched her, like they were shooting electricity into her at each point. And he didn't back down or lose his footing when she'd flirted with him, even if she had spotted a bit of a blush on his cheeks at least once.

This man she hadn't been supposed to follow that night.

This man she especially wasn't supposed to meet, let alone make eye contact with, flirt, dance…

But he'd burned her from the inside out, the sound of his voice as he'd flirted back, the way he'd moved with his body against hers. All he'd had to do in that moment was to lean in and press his lips to hers—anywhere really—and she would have dragged him to a more private place than the dance floor of a night club. And yet, the fact that he didn't was exactly what made it so hard to keep from falling further into his charms.

She stopped humming, then, and she opened her eyes, finding herself struggling to keep tears from forming again.

"While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me..." she finished in a whisper.

Sarah bit her lip and sat up again, wiping her cheeks beneath her sunglasses and gathering up her hat and book.

"Oh, here ya are."

She looked up to see Zondra approaching from around the hedges that lined the stairs leading up to the back patio of the house. "What's wrong?" Sarah asked.

"Why does something have to be wrong?"

"Jay hasn't made it back with most of the loot yet. I just thought maybe you'd gotten word of something bad, that's all."

Zondra snorted. "What, you think those two shipwrecked? Jay threw Philandro overboard in a mutiny and made off to Africa with our loot?"

"No, of course not," Sarah snapped. "It's just worrisome he isn't here yet."

"Oh, come now. He won't be here for at least a day or two. It's not a short trek they're making. That was the whole point." The brunette shrugged.

Sarah sighed and nodded. "You're right. My brain must just be...jumping to conclusions."

Zondra stared at her closely as the blonde slid her sandals on and walked toward her. "You're still moping, aren't you? Pouting?"

"Pouting?" Sarah asked, pulling her chin back and giving the shorter woman a warning look. "I don't pout."

"You're pouting over Trust Fund, leaving him behind and all that. My brother has six kids. I know what pouting looks like." Zondra raised both eyebrows, as if daring Sarah to argue with her. "Fine, we won't call it pouting. You're sad or...something."

Sarah just brushed past her with a tired huff. "Or something."

"Heartbroken?"

"Look, I'm not having another pep-talk about Chuck. I did what was right for him, even if it might not have been right for me. I chose him over myself. I'm unhappy now. Everything hurts. There's nothing to be done about it. So what else is it that you want to say to me about it?" She spun on the shorter woman and faced her head on.

"Hey, now…" Zondra held both of her hands up. "I just came out here to tell you we've steamed a big juicy crab and I threw together a quick bacalhau. It's a little salty, but edible. Trust me, I don't want to talk about...that. Feel free to give Carina all the details, and only Carina, since she loves that crap."

"Oh. Sorry."

"S'okay," the other woman said with a shrug. "You need to get out of this funk, though. You're rubbing off on her and she's getting crabby, too." She snorted as she led Sarah up the stone staircase to the back patio. "Ha! Crabby. And we're eating crab."

Sarah rolled her eyes and smirked for Zondra's benefit, but as they walked together into the kitchen a few moments later, she thought about how right her friend was. She needed to break herself out of this, if for no other reason than there was a chance it might dull her focus.

}o{

One thing was for certain.

Zondra wasn't wrong when she said Carina was crabby.

It wasn't as noticeable when they were eating, probably because they'd had a relatively silent dinner, shoving food into their mouths hungrily after a day of making phone calls and doing research with certain contacts of theirs to figure out the safest and most profitable route for selling their loot.

But after dinner, they'd all sat in the living room, put on a quiet record, and read—Sarah had taken up the Diário de Notícias, the other two propping books on their laps. Carina hadn't just been restless, she'd kept looking at the clock on the mantel, Sarah noticed.

"Carina, are you...all right?"

"I'm just peachy," the redhead chirped, but her lips were spread in a thin line.

But she continued to glance at the clock, letting out soft huffs of frustration. She barely turned the pages of her book, and then finally, after a half hour, she shut the book altogether with a thump and slammed it on the coffee table next to her.

"You don't seem too peachy," Sarah said, sitting up a bit straighter in the stuffed chair she'd chosen, lowering her legs down from where she'd curled them up against her body.

"Well, maybe I think people should be more reliable, especially when you go out on a limb and give them the chance to…" She stopped herself, then picked up her book again. "It doesn't matter. I hate humanity."

Sarah and Zondra exchanged a confused look.

"Red, is, uh...this about Jay?" Zondra asked. "The fact that he isn't here yet, I mean."

There was a silence, too long for Sarah's liking, but then the redhead looking between her friends and shrugged. "Yes, of course. He's got a wide open sea at his disposal and maybe I don't trust he won't sail off into it instead of meeting us here."

"I don't necessarily think that's fair," Sarah said hesitantly. "What would make you think that?"

Carina's eyes flicked down to her lap, and then she cleared her throat and looked back up at Sarah. "I did have an old friend of mine seduce him into her room that one night a few years ago so that she could tie him to the bedpost in his undershorts for a few hours. Because I thought it was funny." She shrugged. "It was funny."

"That was actually very funny," Zondra murmured.

"It was, yes," Sarah agreed matter-of-factly, nodding.

"Pale green striped undershorts," Carina chuckled.

Sarah was the first one to sober up, and she studied her red-haired friend closely. "Are you sure it's Jay that's bothering you? You really are looking at the clock quite a bit."

"No, I'm not," Carina snapped, her brow furrowed in annoyance. "I just like to know what time it is, that's all. What's wrong with that? I'm not wearing my watch. If it's all the same to you two."

"I didn't say anythin'!" Zondra defended, eyes wide.

"You were thinking about it." Carina stood up then and paced to the large fireplace they tended not to use when they were here, looking down into it.

"You are in...sort of a mood, there, Red," the brunette treaded lightly, wincing in Sarah's direction.

"If people were just more trustworthy... If they weren't selfish fools and outright cowards, I wouldn't be in such a mood."

"Wow." Sarah folded up her paper and set it to the side. "Carina, I'm not sure Jay really deserves that. He's probably coming in tomorrow or the day after. We knew he'd take longer to get to Lisbon than the three of us planned to."

Carina just shrugged in frustration, apparently deciding not to verbally contribute.

But then Sarah thought she heard Carina mutter under her breath, "I'll track him down and strangle him with his own damn tie if he doesn't show up."

"That's it," the blonde said, standing from her chair as the others looked across the room at her. "All three of us have been in truly sour moods."

"I didn't say anythin'!" Zondra defended again.

"We need to get out of this house. We're going to get gussied up, put on our best dresses, and disappear into Lisbon's nightlife."

The other two blinked at her.

"What?" she asked in a clipped voice, shrugging demonstratively.

"You are suggesting we go out?" Zondra asked, mouth agape.

"Yes!" She growled. "Stop looking at me like that. I keep obsessing over whether or not I did the right thing that morning in Saint-Tropez, obsessing over him, and it's making me crazy. You're obviously in a terrible mood over that clock for some reason," she said to Carina, gesturing to the clock. "And you...you're just...You frown all the time, Z."

"The hell's that mean?" the brunette snapped, obviously affronted.

"I need to get my mind off of that wonderful, tall, curly-haired walking trust fund before I descend into madness. So please, please, just...encourage me, support me, and go with me to dance and drink and be merry. Please."

"And…" Carina paused, licking her lips. "And if Jay comes back while we're gone tonight?"

"Chances are he won't," Zondra chimed in.

"She's right. He's going to arrive tomorrow or the day after. Just like we all planned."

"But if he doesn't? What then?"

"He waits until we come back. It'll be fine."

"That'll throw everything off. I really think we should wait here. When he's back and we have the loot stored in the wine cellar, then we can go out to celebrate. But not tonight. I think we should stay."

Zondra groaned. "So are we not going?"

"We're going. I'm going upstairs for a bath. I'm doing my hair and makeup. I'm wearing my best dress. I expect the same from the both of you," she demanded, walking to the doorway that led into the entryway where the staircase was next to the front door. She paused at the doorframe then and turned back slowly, wincing. "Please?"

Carina still looked reluctant, but Zondra didn't leave her much of a choice, grabbing her wrist and dragging her after Sarah.

}o{

Sarah Walker forced herself out of the bathtub after fifteen minutes of soaking, knowing that if she stayed much longer than that, her mind would get lost again. She'd discovered in the past few days that there was something about a bath in particular that made her think about Chuck Bartowski as a lithe, strong body she'd had pressed against hers instead of the intelligent, warm, kind man he was, and the things he'd said. Things that didn't include his hands on her bare skin, his lips against her body, and other sensations she could still feel if she really concentrated. Even days later.

So she practically catapulted herself out of the soapy water, yanked on the chain to drain the tub, and wrapped a towel around her form. She needed to get her head out of that space. She needed a distraction. And she felt guilty wanting a distraction from thoughts of Chuck, even though she knew it was for her own mental health. She didn't understand how every woman who met him didn't suffer from the same constant obsessive dwelling she was dealing with herself.

Maybe it was just them, their connection. Other women didn't see him the way she did because he wasn't the same with other women. Maybe he didn't look at them the same way, that way that had drawn her in; those warm, swirling brown eyes that looked like amber and were so potent. It was an appropriate metaphor, she thought, his eyes reminding her of amber. Wasn't that what prehistoric bugs got stuck in? She was trapped like a prehistoric mosquito in amber.

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes at herself, she tied the towel around her now dry body and padded across the room to begin dressing.

She managed twenty whole minutes of dressing, fixing her hair in front of the vanity, applying her makeup, all without letting her mind wander to Chuck again. She'd forced him out the moment he made an appearance.

This night wasn't about finding other men, though. She was clear with herself about that. There was no way she could even stomach trying if she wanted to. She didn't want to even talk to another man tonight. But if they could find somewhere loud and wild where she could get lost in the atmosphere, somewhere she couldn't hear herself think, that would be perfect. She needed a few hard drinks, too.

There was a knock on her bedroom door then. "Yeah?"

She saw in the mirror reflection as Zondra opened the door and poked her head in. When she saw she was dressed, she came all the way inside, thrusting her hand out, palm up. "See? You're almost ready."

"Yes, just a few minutes and I'll be set. Why?"

"Carina hasn't even picked out her outfit yet. She claims she needed, quote, a little catnap, unquote."

Sarah spun around to face Zondra, the stool she sat on squeaking under her. "What?!" she snapped. "She took a nap? She can sleep in the morning when we get back!"

"That was what I said, too! She's sitting on her bed humming and hawing, not budging. I tried to literally pull her to the closet and she just went right back to think some more. She is out of her mind tonight."

Sarah stood up and walked through her room with her bare feet, scooting past Zondra who stood in the doorway, looking like she was ready to go as well. "Red, what are you doing?" she called out as she walked across the landing above the stairs and went into the hallway. She pushed Carina's bedroom door open and stared at the redhead, crossing her arms. "You're usually the fastest when it comes to getting ready for a night out. Consistently."

"I just can't decide," the other woman said with a shrug. "How fancy and elegant are we going, here? Is it going to be a wild party where a gown would be out of place? Or should I wear a sportier dress because we're going dancing? How much are we drinking? That affects the height of the heels I'll be wearing."

Sarah gaped. "Carina, why are you asking so many questions? We're not meeting Prime Minister Salazar tonight."

The redhead gave her an amused look. "Oh, we're not? I must've been mistaken. It's tomorrow night then, is it?"

The blonde snorted. "Stop futzing around and get dressed. And for God's sake, do something with that hair of yours."

"Ha!" Zondra's voice came from behind her. "And hurry up, we don't got all night."

Carina finally stood up and grumbled, standing in front of her closet. "Well, what about color?"

"Oh, come on," Zondra groused.

"Carina, dear God." Sarah crossed to stand next to her. "You're a redhead, you look amazing in green. Here. A green dress. It's the perfect amount of elegance for tonight, with a hint of sporty." She pulled it out and held it up to her friend's tall figure. "You look amazing. Now put it on."

"I don't know that I want to wear green tonight."

"What?!"

"I just mean, it's almost gimmicky, isn't it? A redhead always wearing green?"

Sarah gave Carina the most confused, annoyed look she could muster. "Gimmicky? I've got blond hair and blue eyes and I wear blue all the time. Because it looks good. That's not gimmicky. It's intelligent fashion. Put the damn green dress on. You're wasting time."

"I'm not wasting time on purpose. This has been a long couple of days, we're finally going out on the town in Lisbon together, and I want it to be perfect, that's all."

"And whether or not you wear green isn't going to affect that in any real way, Red," Zondra piped up. "So put that crap on and let's get out of here. I'm getting impatient."

"Patience is a virtue," Carina crooned.

"Not right nooow it isn't," Zondra crooned back sarcastically.

"Enough. Put it on, damn it." Sarah shoved the dress into Carina's hands.

"Worried you'll miss all of the eligible rich bachelors at the Lisbon nightclubs, Miss Sarah?" the redhead drawled, batting her eyelashes sweetly.

"I don't give half a damn about rich bachelors. Especially not tonight. I'm specifically trying not to think about one of them in particular. That's the point of this outing. And I wish you'd get dressed so that I can get a start on that," Sarah nearly whined.

"I can think of a way to purge Trust Fund from your brain, Blondie," Carina said, a teasing look on her face. But there was a strange amount of seriousness in her blue eyes. "It might involve other trust funds."

"That's not what I want. I'm not looking for other trust funds. I'm looking for distraction."

"Men can be distracting."

"I'm not looking for human distraction."

"Fair enough."

"This isn't about me and Chuck, though. This is just about the three of us having an enjoyable night together. Seeing what Lisbon night life has to offer, since we're going to be here for a while, right?" She turned and sent a look towards Zondra, including her in this as well.

"Sounds good to me," the brunette said, crossing her arms and shrugging. "But this fool here refuses to put on a damn dress."

"Will you please put on the damn dress?" Sarah asked Carina. "For us."

"Fine. I'll put it on. But I'm not promising I won't find myself my own rich bachelor tonight. You might be stuck on Trust Fund, but I am free as a bird." Sarah giggled and walked away as Carina slipped the dress on over her lace shift and slid her arms through the arm holes in it.

They stood there watching then as she spent an annoying amount of time with the zipper, as though it was jammed or something.

Zondra let out an annoyed growl and stomped over, slapping Carina's hands away. "I've got it. Just...stand there. Straighten your back and stop slouching."

"I couldn't reach it with my back straight," Carina argued.

"Well, I can so straighten your damn spine."

Carina rolled her eyes and pulled her shoulders back. "Better?"

"Yes. Move your hair."

The redhead gathered her locks up and waited for Zondra to zip up the back of her dress, then she let her hair fall back. "Let me just do my hair and makeup. Why don't you two wait downstairs?"

"Nuh uh." Zondra shook her head. "I'm afraid you'll lie down and take another catnap."

"I can't have any privacy while I'm getting ready?"

"We gave you enough privacy. Now we're gonna stand here until you're ready."

"Why?"

"Because we're both ready to go and you're just standing here lollygagging! I want to get a drink and dance with some tall, dark, and handsome Portuguese man, damn it!"

"Well, I'm not stopping you, honey," Carina quipped, shrugging, and, Sarah noticed, still not going to the vanity to work on her hair and makeup.

"You literally are. We've already been an hour at this, including the time Sarah and I took to get ready."

"The faster you two leave my room, the faster we get out of this house and out into the Lisbon nightlife," she said in a sing-songy voice, flipping her hair for the effect.

Sarah just rolled her eyes and went to Zondra, grabbing her shoulders and guiding her out. "Fine. We'll wait for you downstairs. But you'd better hurry up."

"I'm hurrying!"

It was an entire hour later that Sarah found herself back inside of Carina's bedroom, watching Zondra stand over the redhead as she sat at her vanity mirror, the two of them arguing back and forth.

"I've had it, Red! I've really had it!" the brunette said, raising her voice.

"Good. Fine. Then have it."

"Two hours!" Zondra groused. "Two hours from the time we all started getting ready 'til now! Is there something wrong with you?"

"I dunno, Z. You tell me."

Sarah rolled her eyes. Carina knew exactly how to get under Zondra's skin. Playing dumb, using that sweet, saccharine voice, not raising her own voice the way Zondra wanted her to...the sarcasm...oh, Zondra was going to snap. And Sarah had to be here for it, so that she could watch, because she was getting seriously frustrated with the redhead, too.

"You've been a problem all day, Carina. All day. And now we're trying to go out and you take more than TWO HOURS to get ready! By the time we get to a club, they'll be all out of gin!"

"Guess you'll have to make do with vodka, huh? What's good for the Russians…" She let her voice trail off, turning back to the mirror to calmly continue applying her mascara.

"Careful, Red. You play with fire, you're liable to get burned," Sarah warned through clenched teeth, trying with all her might to stay even-keeled and calm. Someone had to rein this in when it got too intense.

That would not be Zondra, by the looks of it.

"I'm not playing with fire," the red-haired con woman said with a casual shrug. "I'm just trying to get ready."

"FOR. TWO. HOURS."

Carina glanced up at Zondra over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes. "Well, honey, you can't rush perfection."

"Oh my God, I will kill you, Red. I will. Don't think I won't. I've put a handful of folks underground and you know it's true."

"Mmmhmmm."

"You know, I've punched enough fellas in their throats for saying women are high maintenance, but you're proving them right and I genuinely hate you for it at the moment," the brunette growled.

"Good. I hate you, too. Just for that, I'm going slower."

Zondra made a fist, gritting her teeth, and Sarah leapt in, grabbing the other woman's arm and forcing her a few steps back. She was only half sure Zondra wouldn't have killed Carina if she hadn't just stepped in.

"You damn-" Zondra growled like a caged lion and stepped back, brushing herself off. "That's it. I'm not going. My patience is gone. I didn't wanna go this bad."

Carina put down her mascara, raising her eyebrows and smiling. "Oh, good. That's fine. We won't go."

Sarah spun around. "What?! No! We agreed! We all agreed we were going out tonight! I can't stay here; I'll go absolutely mad!" she pleaded.

"She said she doesn't wanna, so…" Carina shrugged matter-of-factly, like she wasn't the root of the entire issue.

"I'm out of patience with you and your attitude. I'm just not going. You lost your chance," Zondra said, walking out of the room.

Carina shot up from her bench and yelled, "GOOD!"

Sarah followed Zondra, though, feeling a bit desperate and angry. "Zondra, be a damn adult!"

Zondra spun on her at the staircase. "Oh, so she can be a child, but I have to be an adult! That makes a lotta sense!"

"That's not what I'm saying! You're both being idiotic!"

"You're idiotic!"

"Grow up!"

"No! Not until she does!"

Sarah kept following Zondra down the stairs. "This vacation has been horrible! I've been heartbroken and-"

"Well, whose fault is that, Blondie?"

"Mine! Obviously!" Sarah said, rolling her eyes. Zondra was apparently trying to use her leaving Chuck behind as a dagger in this situation, but she was well aware she'd made the decision and she was hurting thanks to her own actions. She wasn't letting Zondra have this victory. "That's beside the point! I'm trying to push past it and go out for one. fun. night. And you two are ruining it with this trivial nonsensical argument!"

"No!"

"You're making everything worse by-"

"I'm not going!"

Carina crashed down the stairs behind them. "Me, neither!" she yelled.

"I HATE YOU BOTH! I'M TRYING TO HEAL!" Sarah belted. She shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath. "I forgot my shoes." She smoothed he hands down the front of her dress and cleared her throat. "I'm going upstairs to get them. When I come back down, we. are. leaving. That's all there is to it."

As she climbed back up the stairs, she heard them following.

"We can't! I'm not ready!" Carina yelled.

"I'm not going!" Zondra yelled at the same time, just a step or two behind Sarah.

Anything Sarah planned to say to them was interrupted, however, when there was a knock on the front door.

All three of them stopped.

Sarah spun on her heel, looking down at Zondra behind her first, then at Carina who was at the foot of the stairs still. "Who is showing up at our door at almost ten at night?" she hissed loud enough so both of them could hear without whoever was out there hearing.

Both of them shrugged, eyes wide.

It couldn't be anything good.

The knock sounded again, a short, clipped, playful _rat atat tat_.

"I'll get it," Carina said, clenching her jaw, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. She went to the small desk pressed against the wall in the entry way and slowly slid the drawer open, pulling a small pistol out. "I doubt it's Jay...it's too early for Jay."

Sarah glared. For all of Carina's posturing about needing to stay home tonight in case Jay came back, now she was suddenly agreeing that he probably wouldn't make it in tonight. Typical.

But she braced herself then as Carina went to answer, sliding the lock and slowly opening the door a crack, hiding the gun behind her back and putting her other foot out to block the door in case whoever it was tried to push it open and force their way in.

"Yes?"

"Hello, there, M—Oh...I-I'm sorry. You're just...You're pretty."

Sarah frowned. Who on Earth…?

"Thanks, handsome. Who are you?" Carina chirped.

"Oh. Oh, right! Right, of course. I'm a…" His voice drifted off. "Honestly, you have these freckles that sort of disappear and reappear in the light and I'm just dazzled. I—That's not why I'm here. I'm sorry. I wasn't prepared for a beautiful woman to open the door obviously." He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'm here because I have a package. I'm a courier, see. A special courier. And I need you to sign for this package I have. See? It's right here. Under my arm."

"I...see it. Say that thing about the freckles again, cutie. I liked it."

"Oh. Ohh…" his voice breathed. "Ahem. I-I mean, I'm here to deliver this package, miss."

"That little ol' box for me?" the redhead drawled.

"N-No. It's...Well, I dunno. I'm just...I'm the...you know…"

"Right. The courier. Special courier."

"Exactly. You got it. Will you just sign?"

"Well, who's it for?"

"Uh, um…" There was a slight pause. "It says here it's for a Miss, er, Miss Blond Mystery? Yep. Package is for Miss Blond Mystery." He cleared his throat again. "Weird name. But I don't do anythin' but deliver the packages. Because I am a courier. That is my job. Courier..ing." Sarah thought she could almost hear the other man gulping.

But she was already walking down the stairs towards the door when she heard 'Miss Blond Mystery'. She was the only blonde in the house. It was for her, obviously. But who the hell had sent a courier to her door with a package? Who even knew she was here?

Carina signed and took the box. "Thanks, cutie."

"You, uh, you have a good night, miss."

"Oh, trust me. I mean to." She blew him a kiss as she shut the door and Sarah could swear she heard him tripping on his way down the front steps, and a soft, "Ow", before the door shut. Carina threw the lock and then turned to face Sarah with the box in both hands. "You're the only blonde I know at the moment."

"Why am I getting a package here? No one knows I'm here save for us and Jay. Jay's still out on the water somewhere, so it can't be from him."

"Not only that, he wouldn't call you a blond mystery," Carina snarked. "The man does not have a way with words."

Sarah scoffed and took the package as Carina offered it up to her. She turned it over and studied the box. She didn't recognize the handwriting on it.

"Maybe you have an admirer in the neighborhood who noticed you coming and going over the last few days?" Zondra theorized, leaning against the bannister of the staircase casually.

"That's silly," Sarah admonished. "We don't really have neighbors. They're all further down the hill. And we just got here yesterday."

"Do you have any enemies?"

"You two are the only ones I know of," she said drily, eyeing them both. At least Carina had the decency to wince at that. Zondra didn't seem to care.

"Open it."

She glanced up at Carina who looked eager. That was a bit suspicious, she thought, but she figured she'd open it anyway. She was even more curious about the contents. "Here's hoping it isn't a bomb," she murmured.

"Or poison," Zondra offered helpfully.

Sarah shook her head and tore at the tape, popping the flaps of the box open and looking inside. There was another box inside, much smaller, and covered in blue velvet. "What…?"

Frowning in confusion, she pulled the box out.

"A jewelry box?" Carina asked.

"I-I don't know."

Sarah shoved the packing box under her arm and popped open the rectangular blue velvet box, peering down with wide eyes. "What. Is. Going. On?" she asked breathlessly.

"What is it? Lemme see!" Carina pushed up next to her and looked down. "Wait, what are these? Gems?"

The blonde carefully plucked one of the two shimmering, brown gems out of the carefully padded slot in the box. "Two axinite gems, intricately cut...These are _beautifully_ cut. Almost perfect…" she breathed in awe.

"Axinite?" Zondra asked, but Sarah ignored her, her mind going a mile a minute.

Who would send her two perfectly hewn axinite stones like this? These were probably worth a pretty penny, not as much as other rare gems, of course, but she imagined a few thousand each, if not more. It depended on the clarity of the stone. But that didn't matter. What really mattered was who had sent these?

Two axinite, placed so perfectly in this blue velvet box.

"Who sent this?" Carina asked, reaching in to take the other stone. Sarah pulled away and pouted at her. "Oh, come on. I'll give it back."

"They were sent to me," Sarah said, still letting the redhead take the other stone and study it in the light from the lamp on the entry way desk. "I don't know why, or by whom-"

But the words died in her throat as she was assailed by a specific memory. It was almost a week ago when it happened, but the words rang in her ears now.

 _Has anyone told you your eyes look like axinite? Pure axinite._

 _I've never heard of axinite._

 _What a shame. It's a very beautiful mineral. And rare._

He'd given her such an adorably confused look, which had only emphasized his eyes further. That was only the beginning of the flirtation that afternoon. It was the beginning of everything.

"Why axinite? How do you even find this? Whoever sent this is either loaded or a thief like us. This is worrisome," Carina was saying, and all Sarah could do was shake her head, staring down at the gems as her friend put the other one back into the slot in the box.

"Did we steal axinite from the Chellequin?" Zondra asked. "It could be that we sent it to ourselves without remembering."

Both Sarah and Carina sent her supremely flat looks.

"What? It's more of an explanation than you two've come up with."

All Sarah could do was gaze at the stones, feeling her eyes start to fill. She didn't even bother trying to blink away the oncoming tears. How had he even remembered…?

No. More importantly, how did he know where to send them?

Before she could properly freak out over that very important question, there was another knock on the door. Her heart leapt into her throat.

"Oh, what n—Whoa!"

Sarah shoved Carina out of her way and lunged at the front door, turning the lock. She ripped the door open.

There he was. All six feet and four inches of trust fund and warmth. A slow smile grew over his face, and then his glittering brown eyes dropped to the box in her hand and he grinned a bit crookedly. "I see my courier arrived on time."

The sound of his voice broke through the startled haze that had settled over her and she gasped out his name.

"Chuck!"

}o{

She dropped the packing box at her feet and had her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. She heard his hat that she knocked off of his head fall to the steps behind him and she didn't care because he was holding her again.

"Hoooo-lyyyy mackerel," came a gasp from behind her.

She didn't care.

She didn't care, she didn't care, she didn't care.

All she cared about was in her arms. She worked hard to not let the tears fall, but the relief and pure joy she was feeling threatened to make them spill over. She feared if she started she wouldn't be able to stop.

But then he pulled back a bit and cupped her face, happiness radiating from his features. "You're a stinker, Sarah Walker," he breathed. "Didn't even let me say goodbye."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry." She sprang at him again, hugging him, clinging to him. And then something occurred to her and she pulled back. "How?" she panted. "How are you here? How'd you know where to—? God, I can't believe you sent me axinite. After that horrible pick-up line."

"It wasn't so horrible. It worked."

"Hey, maybe bring the party inside," Carina said then, and Sarah glanced back to see her opening the door wider.

Oh.

She pulled back from Chuck and dragged him inside the entry way, letting Carina shut the door behind them. As she gazed up at Chuck, her heart pounding against her ribcage, she noticed the smirk he sent Carina over her shoulder.

"Fashionably late, Curls," the redhead said, apparently having picked up his hat at some point, as she proffered it to him. He let go of Sarah with one hand, the other arm slung around her slim waist, and he took the hat.

"It's a trait I learned from my mother," he said with a shrug.

"What?" Sarah asked, breathless, as she kept both of her arms wrapped tight around his torso. She was almost afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream.

"I was about ready to go find your rich backside and drag you here by the seat of your pants," Carina groused.

"I'm sorry. What?" Sarah repeated, looking back and forth between them.

"I agree with what she says," Zondra piped up, jaw slack. "What?"

This time, Sarah did let go, taking a step away from Chuck so that she could see the both of them.

"That was how he knew where this place was. Carina, did you give him this address?" She stared with wide eyes. "You did, didn't you? After everything I said about trying to protect him. What were you thinking?"

"Blah blah blah, you were trying to protect him. You were doing the right thing by him. You don't deserve him. You're not enough for him. Blah blah. I heard the whole spiel, Sar, but everything else besides your voice—your eyes, your face, the way you looked so defeated and unhappy—was telling me the opposite. So I decided to do something to make you happy. I gave him a chance where you neglected to. I told him where you'd be so that he could make the choice for himself." She shrugged. "And that was the right thing."

"N-No, Carina." She spun. "Chuck, you—This is crazy." She spun back to Carina. "You! You know what this job entails, what my life is like. This life. It isn't safe for...normal people."

"Hey!" Zondra joked, still at the staircase.

"I'm not exactly normal," Chuck said, shrugging. "My existence is anything but normal."

"But you don't get shot at." She put her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Stay in your world where you don't run the risk of being shot at, Chuck."

"I'm a multi-millionaire, one of the richest men in the western world, always out in the public eye...I've been told to hire security on multiple occasions, bodyguards, what have you. I'm not saying it's anything like what you do, or the danger involved in what you do. But this isn't a regular life I'm living. I'm not a regular guy." His hands slid to gently grip onto her hips.

"You're not a criminal."

"That's true. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to make some sacrifices."

"Uhhh...Zondra, what do you say we hit the town just the two of us?" Carina broke in, then, awkwardly.

Sarah realized the two of them had been standing there the whole time and she blushed a bit, sharing a look with Chuck and turning to face them. She felt his hand settle on her lower back and heat spilled through her midsection.

"Wait just a minute." The brunette straightened up from where she was jauntily leaning against the bannister and pointed at the redhead. "You've got some cheek! That whole two hour procrastination stunt was about Trust Fund Kid, wasn't it? You were stalling because you thought he might come! You set all of this up and you dragged the two of us along to the point where I was ready to stab you in the eye with my hairpin!"

"Ummm, maybe?"

Chuck stepped around Sarah then, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket. "You mean this note she left in my pocket when she tied me to the chair a few days ago? Gave me the address and the date. Signed, Red."

"Mmmm and you didn't let me down," Carina drawled, closing the distance between them and moving in to give him a big kiss on his cheek.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You wrote the address of my house down on a piece of paper and stuffed it in his pocket? Carina, nothing about that is safe!"

"You trusted him enough to give him your real name, Sarah Walker. So I figured this was fair game."

"She has a point," Chuck murmured.

"You be quiet."

He widened his eyes and pressed his lips together, holding a hand up and looking away.

"And now this conniver wants me to go out on the town with her, after the last two hours of waiting. I honestly hate you, you know that?" Zondra groused, pushing away from the staircase and walking towards the door. She grabbed Carina's shoulder and pushed her towards it in front of her. "Go. You're buying my first three drinks. You, don't wait up," she said, pointing at Sarah. "And you!" She spun on her heel, facing Chuck. "You came through. I didn't expect that. I'm pleasantly surprised. You might be...okay, Trust Fund."

"You really are just gonna call me Trust Fund forever, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I am."

"Not 'Chuck' or anything?"

"Nah."

"Well, all right. Fair enough."

She snorted and the two of them were gone, the front door shut behind them.

}o{

The air was almost uncomfortable in the entry way, Chuck found. An awkwardness had settled between them now that the flurry of events had died down, almost as quickly as it had started. The other two women had disappeared out that door, it had slammed shut behind them, and now he was alone with Sarah for the first time in what felt like a year, even though it was four days at the most.

Sarah sighed heavily and turned to face him, her eyes tired. And even though he saw some sadness in her, he could tell she was glad to see him. And it wasn't just him projecting because he was ecstatic to see her again, after fearing he never would.

She was glad to see him. Glad he was here.

But he could also see in her face that she was going to go back to that old talking point again. He had his work cut out for him. But at least he had time now.

"Chuck...I can't believe you're here," she breathed, reaching out and putting a hand on his bicep, running her hand down his arm almost reverently. It made his heart beat faster. And he had to bite his lip to keep from closing the distance and kissing her to within an inch of her life. That wouldn't help anything, but Lord save him, it would feel so good.

"I wouldn't be if Carina hadn't slipped me your address. I think that means she likes me!" he chirped, giving her his signature smile and winking.

She seemed to smile almost in spite of herself. "I never know what she is thinking or doing. Who she likes, who she doesn't like. She keeps us all on our toes."

"Kept me on my toes, too," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Ellie found it in my jacket pocket and I didn't quite know what to do with it at first. But almost immediately, I thought to myself, why in damn hell wouldn't I take advantage of this opportunity I've been given?"

Sarah shrugged, looking almost shy. It was strange, seeing this woman be shy. It was different, but he'd never been opposed to different, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Sometimes Carina's prime motivation in life is stirring things up, doing what people don't want her to do, causing havoc, and then she sits back with a cocktail and watches it all play out," she said, frowning. "I don't know yet if this is one of those times."

"Or...maybe she wants to see us happy." He tilted his head. "Perhaps not me. She doesn't know me. But I can believe she'd want to see you happy."

"Maybe she does. But this has been a shock and I don't quite know...what to think. Honestly."

"So...you're not happy to see me." Maybe he'd been wrong…

"You idiot, of course I'm happy to see you. I was miserable at the thought that I'd never see you again." He felt his entire heart and soul soar at her admission, and he tried to keep it from showing too hard on his face. "But I'm not certain this is...I just mean to say that I knew what I was doing when I said those things to you that morning in Saint-Tropez. I'll never be enough for you. I'll never be good. Not in the way you deserve."

"There are a lot of different definitions for 'good', Sarah Walker. You might not be good in one way, and you're still good in other ways." He moved in a bit closer, careful not to touch her but still leaning in so that their faces were mere inches away. "You're good in all the ways that are important to me."

She let out a deep breath. "What if that's not good enough for me?"

Chuck didn't know how to respond to that. So he just swallowed and kept his eyes on hers.

"Chuck, you're incredible. And you really have a way with words. I-I don't. Unless I'm working, trying to lie, manipulate, act my way through a con, to get something I need, I am no wordsmith. But I'm going to try to put this as clearly as I can. I simply do not deserve you."

"I disagree," he said easily, shrugging.

"I suppose that's your prerogative, but I think you're wrong. You already know this, but maybe I need to repeat it again. I steal things for a living and I have no intention of stopping."

He shrugged again. "I know. And I wouldn't want you to."

"Then how the hell is this supposed to work?" she asked, throwing her hands up. She gestured between them then, almost a bit manically. He could see how frustrated she was. "This thing between us, as good as it is, what kind of viability does this have? A criminal and a socialite. It's nothing but trouble."

Said socialite opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

"I know, I know. You like trouble. But be realistic for a second, Chuck. Please. What kind of longevity is here?"

"I don't know," he said, twisting his mouth to the side thoughtfully. "I don't know if it has longevity. I think it does. I really, really think it does. But I don't know for sure. How could anyone say anything in the future is for sure? But why can't we try anyway?"

"And what's that going to look like, in your mind?" she asked immediately. "What does us trying look like to you?"

He stopped, took in her words, and let them settle in his mind. She seemed to be waiting patiently enough for him. And he finally sighed heavily.

"Sarah, I don't know. Not just yet. These last few days I've been traveling from Saint-Tropez to Lisbon, all the while conspiring about how best to do this whole...presentation. Showing up at your door and everything." He'd been worried, honestly, that she would recognize Morgan as the courier almost immediately. But apparently he'd put on enough of an act that she hadn't. He'd seen the outright surprise on her face when she opened the door, the hopefulness…

"I haven't thought about how to make this work," he said. "Maybe part of me thought we'd talk about it after I got you to actually let me in."

"You didn't think I'd let you in?" she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes, a little pout on her lips.

"I wasn't certain. You seemed pretty resolute when you left me tied and gagged that morning," he said, giving her a less than pleased look. She at least had the decency to wince. "But I had to try. I couldn't not try. If only it meant...seeing you again."

Sarah bit her lip and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "You get me so confused. I never know if I want you to keep talking like that, or if I want you to stop."

"Sorry. You bring out the love poet in me."

That made her giggle. "That was utterly terrible."

"It felt really bad. Yeah."

They laughed together. He sobered first, gnawing on his lip, watching her. He decided to be truthful, completely truthful.

"Sarah, I don't have any idea in my head of what this is gonna look like. Us. Us trying, I mean. I haven't had enough time to think about it. I've been so caught up in getting to see you again, trying to see you again. I was honestly a tad worried on the plane to Saint-Tropez that Carina was playing a cruel joke on me. Ellie didn't think so, but deep down inside I was worried."

"Ellie?" she asked, eyes wide. "Ellie is...here?"

"Ellie, Devon...Morgan my axinite courier. Yes. They're all here. I suppose you could call this a, um, family affair." He gave her a crooked smile. "They know everything." She blanched. "Wait, not everything. I didn't tell them...your real name. And only Morgan knows this address. I had to. He was my courier."

She sniffed in amusement, he thought. "I thought I might've recognized that voice, but I didn't put two and two together." She opened the box again and looked down at the gems he'd struggled to find and have delivered to him fast enough to make this happen. He'd spent a fortune, but for him, it was nearly nothing. Especially if it meant making this work between him and his robber. "This was clever, Chuck. Two axinite gems."

"Like my eyes. Apparently. That's what you said, anyway."

She giggled and shut the box again, setting it to the side. As she crossed her arms, he thought maybe she had something else to say, so he stayed quiet, letting her have a bit of time to think.

"I'm terrified for you, Chuck. There's no path I can see that will fit the both of us. And if you try to go down my path, eventually you'll be unhappy. And that's the best case scenario. Worst case scenario, you get caught up in some trouble like you did last week, only this time your parents' legacy doesn't protect you. Even worse than that, you get hurt. Or…" Her voice trailed off and he knew what she wasn't saying.

He swallowed thickly. "And you don't want to go down my path, I know." He nodded. "I understand it, too. I'd never expect you to throw your whole life, what you enjoy doing, away for me. You know that, right?"

Sarah smiled a bit. "I know. But I'm just going to reiterate this again; my whole life, what I enjoy doing, is stealing from other people. Which is why I'm so resistant to this entire scheme."

"It isn't a scheme," he said, accidentally letting his frustration show. He willed himself to take a breath, calm down. "We're two people who are in love and we're trying to find a way, just one way, to be together."

"You're right," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trivialize it."

"It's all right, Sarah."

"I'm just completely flummoxed by all of this, Chuck. By how much you want to be with me, knowing everything that you know. By how hard you're pushing for it, when you have no idea whether it can even work. By the fact that I've found the one thing in the world I want more than anything, and it's somehow made me even more sure that I shouldn't have it." She let out a hard breath and pushed her hair back from her face, obviously frustrated.

"Because you love me and you're trying to protect me. That means more to me than you know, Sarah. Truly." He finally moved in and held her arms under her elbows, looking into her blue eyes. "But we can still make this work."

Sarah pulled away suddenly and pushed past him, walking through the double doors into what looked like a study. He followed after her, deciding to stop short of touching her again, just letting her stand there, her back to him, body tense.

"How can you say we can make this work when we have no plan?" She spun to face him, and he wondered if she knew her face was begging for him to find a plan somehow. If he could just give her a reason to hope this might work…

"We don't have a plan. Not yet. But what if Carina has gifted us exactly what we need?"

"What? Another chance?"

"That, sure. But mostly, she's given us time, Sarah. Time we didn't have in Saint-Tropez. We have this safe setting with which to take our time, too. No gendarmerie looming over our heads, waiting to pounce. She's given us time to talk, to figure it out." He huffed, scratching the back of his head. "You know, what if we don't have to have a plan right now? Tonight?" A crooked smile stretched over his lips and he caught her eye. "I'm a young man, Sarah Walker. I have the rest of my life ahead of me. I've got time."

Her chest rose and fell again, and she licked her lips...almost hungrily, he thought. But then she gulped and shook her head. "This is madness," she breathed, crossing her arms and pressing her fingers to her lips, looking off to the side.

"I know. It is. But then again, what if it isn't?" She sent him a flat look. "Just food for thought," he said with a shrug.

"What are you doing, Chuck? All of this," she said, gesturing around them. "Making love to a criminal. Trying to make it work when you know it's a dead end." She sighed and gave him a long look. "You know this is a dead end, don't you?"

"No. I don't know that. Not at all. And there's no way you could know it, either, Sarah."

"Chuck, you're crazy! As much as we both want this, it can't happen! You need to get your head out of the clouds. I get it, you're used to getting everything you want." She froze then, looking remorseful. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so harsh."

"You're not altogether wrong, Sarah." She looked a little confused. "Having this much money usually means I can buy just about anything, and I suppose if I wanted to—anyone." He winced. "But that's the thing; this isn't like that. It's different. My whole life, I've wanted for nothing. I was taken care of every step of the way. I was provided with the best education, privileged beyond all measure. But these last ten years, as much as I've gotten what I wanted—funding for scholarships for other kids, support for all of my charitable causes, et cetera—I've never really _wanted_." He closed the distance as he spoke, hearing the desperate undertone in his own voice and not caring to disguise it. "I'm talking real want, where it makes your blood...I don't know, burn inside of you. Like having it will make everything real and clear. It's madness, you're right. All of this. My teasing aside, it is madness." He held onto her arms, stepping even closer so that their fronts were brushing. "And at the same time, I feel like everything is finally settling inside of me. You make me feel...peace. Calm. Even though I'm absolutely certain that life with you won't be particularly easy. This, us figuring out a way to make it work won't be easy. But it's gonna be worth it. Whether we've got the longevity you're so concerned about or not, Sarah."

"I want to believe that with everything in me-"

"Let yourself believe it, then. Let this happen."

"How?" she burst out, pulling away again, rubbing a hand down her face. "Like I keep having to say, there is no plan."

"And like I keep having to say, there doesn't need to be a plan right now. We have time. For all intents and purposes, we have all the time in the world," he said, outstretching his arms to the side. "We have the time to come up with a plan, or multiple plans. We can work together on this. Think about it, mull it over, try different things. I don't know. I don't care. I just want to know that you're willing to try. Because I am."

"Are you willing to end up in prison because you're seeing a jewel thief?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

"I dunno! Maybe! But I don't think that's gonna happen."

"Like you said yourself, we don't know what'll happen in the future."

He groaned. "Don't throw my words in my face like that, Sarah."

"You said them."

"I did," he relented. "And I meant them. But you have to let me make a decision for myself, even if you are trying to protect me."

"You don't know what this life is like, Chuck. Carina does, and maybe that's why I'm so angry with her. She knows what this life entails and she gave you a way to force yourself into it, where you can be legitimately hurt."

"She gave me a choice you stripped from me that morning."

She reeled back a bit, almost as though she'd been hit. And it made his chest ache, but he wasn't backing down just yet. He couldn't.

"Listen to me, Sarah. Really listen."

"I am. Just because I disagree with you, doesn't mean I'm not listening," she snapped. He'd hurt her feelings a bit, he could see. And damn him, but the flash of immaturity and stubbornness she was showing in this moment made him love her all the more.

"All right. I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "You're right that I don't know everything that your career entails. I've probably glorified it in my head in some ways because of the _Fantômas_ comics my dad and I read together when I was a kid." She didn't seem to understand the reference. He thought he'd show them to her later. If there was a later. He was starting to wonder if he might not get through to her, even with this extra time he was given. "Maybe I never will fully understand that. I know for a fact that I'd never be able to fit myself into that world. You're right about that, too. But none of that means we can't find some way to...to meet in the middle."

"Again... _how_ seems to be the question neither of us can answer," she murmured.

"Not yet. We will, though. Maybe both of us have a few things we'll need to compromise on. Sacrifice."

"I don't want to sacrifice anything."

"But you'll sacrifice your happiness. And being with me."

She clenched her jaw and looked away, blinking rapidly. He thought perhaps tears were gathering in her eyes. "You don't understand what you'd be getting into with me. And so what if you make the sacrifices, Chuck? And we end up finding some way to be together? Only for you to discover in a few months, or even a few years, that I'm not all you made me out to be?"

He sighed, thinking about it for a few moments. "Realistically, I don't have an answer for that. But I can tell you that I feel with everything in me that what you just said isn't going to happen. I know what I'm about, Sarah. I'm a grown, twenty-seven year old man who's been through the ringer in some ways, and has been given everything he has in a lot of other ways, but I know what I'm about. I know what I want. I know how I feel."

"Then we go back to what I said a few moments ago. What if I don't want to sacrifice any part of my lifestyle?"

"Not even if it turns out to be worth it? Not just for me, but for this. What we could be. How fantastic both our lives might be if we're together." She was quiet, thoughtful. He decided to press his luck a little bit. "I feel like deep down you know it'd be worth it. I'd never ask you to sacrifice everything. But maybe if we take this time Carina's given us by helping me to find you again, we can figure out what each of us can sacrifice, what we're willing to sacrifice, to make this work."

"I'm really getting fed up with how easily you're getting inside of my head."

He chuckled. "I can't say I'm sorry."

She snorted. And then she frowned, pushing a lock of lustrous blond hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I love you, Chuck. And I need you to know something about me, about my life, that I've never told anyone. I've never really had any reason to."

He nodded, listening closely, paying close attention.

"There's never been a time in my life when I thought I was going to find my...someone. You know?" He was still a bit foggy on where she was going, so he just furrowed his brow. "You don't know." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I wish I had your way with words right about now. What I mean to say is that regular girls—people in general, not just girls—have this expectation, I think, of finding a person, someone who is important, becomes theirs. You know, the whole marriage, baby...or for some people maybe even a whirlwind romance is enough. I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying, but I never had that thought. I never got to a place where I felt I'd want or need it. Maybe I didn't think it had a place in my life." She took a deep breath. "I'm not saying that for sympathy. Because it never felt like a bad thing. My lifestyle didn't allow for it, really. Men, yes. Love, no. Because…why? What for?" She furrowed her brow and shrugged, and he noticed her crossed arms slid around to the point where she was hugging herself now. "And I'm telling you this, because it means that I never expected in a million years to meet you. Not you, Charles Irving Bartowski, the youngest heir to Stephen and Mary Bartowski's fortune. But you...the man I've fallen in love with. I never knew there was anyone like you. Never would've guessed it in a million years. So I wasn't ready for how fast and intense and real this was. And now I'm...floundering, maybe. And confused. And...having a hard time. I love you. I want what's best for you. But I want you, even though I know I'm not what's best for you."

Chuck sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "I understand. And I think I agree, even though I come from a completely different place than you do. I-I mean, I think in a way it's been the same for me. I told you before, I've been with women, just like I'm sure you've been with men." She raised an eyebrow. "That sounded bad. I didn't mean it like that. It's not a judgmental thing. I just...Look, I'll be blunt. There is no way, with the things you did to me that night, that it was your first time. And I say that with the utmost respect, and frankly, quite a bit of awe."

Sarah was blushing, and he inwardly felt rather good about it.

"And listen, you love me. I know it. I believe you when you say it. I know it just as much as I know I love you. If that makes sense." He scoffed at himself and cleared his throat. "But—and I don't mean this in a harsh way—you don't know me. You do, I mean you do know me, but not...not really. Flirting over a craps table, one dance, a robbery, and two nights of...well...doesn't really lend itself to truly getting to know a person. That's a fact." She shrugged in agreement. "So, with all due respect, Sarah Walker, I'm not at all sure you know what's best for me."

At least this time she didn't look angry. Just thoughtful, quiet.

"I do know what's best for me. I've had twenty-seven years of living in my skin, learning about myself in some...difficult ways. I've gotten to a point where I think I can figure out not just what I want, but what will end up being good for me." He took a deep breath and tilted his head. "Maybe it sounds like I'm talking through my hat. But I know you're good for me. I know what I've tried before you, I know who I've tried. I know what hasn't worked out and why. I've gone through the motions, I've done what was expected of me. I know what isn't good for me. I need someone who's going to keep me honest."

"So...a criminal."

He gave her a look and she shrugged as though she had a point.

"You're more than just a criminal. You're someone who's gonna hold my feet to the fire."

"Whose feet are currently at the fire, Chuck?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He blushed. "Good point. I just mean that you're not going to let me get away with anything, you're..."

Chuck huffed, and suddenly he was the one who couldn't get the words out.

"If you want a woman who's gonna talk back to you, I'm sure you can find one of those who isn't also a jewel thief who can get you into heaps of trouble."

"I don't want just anyone who's gonna talk back. I want you. Your career choice doesn't change that. You aren't hearing me."

"I am hearing you just fine."

"You're not. You said you're going to get me into trouble. Do I want to end up in jail? No. But I do want the sort of trouble I know you're gonna bring me. The kind of trouble that keeps my blood flowing, that makes me feel like I'm alive. You make me laugh. And I know that's...really corny. But nobody else makes me laugh. Nobody else brings me joy the way you do. And damn it, that's worth something. It's worth everything."

He wasn't expecting her to lunge at him, grab his face, and kiss him. He dove into it with everything he had, wrapping his arms around her, drinking her in. They stayed that way for a while, grabbing at one another, fingers tangling in hair, twisting in clothes…

And when they finally pulled back for air, Chuck panted out an aching, "I am so confused right now...but God, I love it. I love that you do this to me. It's everything I've always needed."

She giggled, kissing him some more and pulling back, her lips still brushing his as she breathed out a heady, "You're mad."

He kissed her this time. "Ohhh, completely," he groaned out, earning another almost manic giggle from his robber. "But you love it."

Sarah bit her lip and nodded. "Mhm.

"I hope you don't think me too forward, but…" Chuck knelt down and just showed her instead of continuing to talk, slipping his arms behind her legs and hoisting her up into his embrace. She squealed and had to wrap her arms around his neck, a look of pleasant surprise on her face.

He knew they hadn't worked things out. He knew she still hadn't give him an answer. But they had time for answers. He needed to get a little more trouble under his skin before they dove back into that.

And as he carried her up the stairs, letting her tell him where her bedroom was, he was very resolute about where he wanted to get that trouble. For the rest of his life.

* * *

 **A/N:** Woooooooooooooooooooooooo boy howdy that was a big one. Hope it was as enjoyable for you as it was for me. Hahahaha. Please review! Let me have it. Really tear this chapter apart. Ha haha hahaha hahaha ha (thumbs nose)

-SC


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** So remember last time, how I was like "Oh there might be one more chapter left"? Here's the thing, this really was what I meant to end it with. Full honesty. I wrote up until this point before I even started posting. But I read everyone's review after the last chapter, and read your concerns about one chapter not being enough time to clear it all up...and I edited this and really looked at it and thought about it. There needs to be more. For once, I'm actually going to take your advice, my friends (hahaha!) and I am going to add more to this story. Some closure perhaps. That said, I haven't written it. Or figured out what it's going to look like. Which means there's a good chance it might take longer than the usual scheduled day. Sorry about that, but! You can't rush trouble! (wink!) Thanks for your constructive, kind reviews. I mean it! You're all (the vast majority of you) pretty fabulous!

So without further ado, enjoy what was going to be the last chapter, but now is not!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK, or its characters. I'm not making any money from this story.

* * *

She was woken up by the sound of drunken whispering, like when you are trying to be quiet and you're drunk so what you think is whispering is actually just breathy talking. And then there was the sound of doors shutting down the hall. And finally silence again.

Her first thought was that whoever had broken into her home was welcome to anything she had there, so long as she didn't have to move. Because for the first time since she'd gotten to Lisbon, she was actually sufficiently warm in this bed. The nights had been cold and almost a little damp even. She simply didn't want to leave this warmth.

But then she realized nobody had broken in.

It was just Zondra and Carina returning home in the early morning hours from being out on the town. That was their usual modus operandi, wasn't it? Partying until four or five in the morning and climbing into bed around six? She'd done it with them enough times to know the way it worked.

And then she felt a hand that wasn't hers shift just slightly against her hip, like fingers twitching in sleep.

Everything settled over her at once. And she finally opened her eyes, coming face to face with the man she loved more than anything in the world.

For the first time, they had a night in which they'd actually managed to sleep. The sun had already started rising outside, and she'd neglected to do anything with the curtains, so the light was spilling over her bed. And Chuck Bartowski was fast asleep with an arm draped over her, their legs tangled, sheets pulled high. It was silly, she knew, but this had been what she'd wanted: a chance to wake up before him and see what he looked like when he slept.

Just like this.

She'd hated that she'd missed out on it after leaving Saint-Tropez.

And here he was, having followed her to Lisbon.

She wondered if he was a light sleeper, like her, or if he was more of a heavy sleeper. He hadn't woken up when Carina and Zondra had made noise out in the hallway.

Then she felt ridiculous, because after everything that had happened last night, she was lying here wondering about Chuck Bartowski's sleeping habits. She bit her lip to keep from giggling, and then she reached up as carefully and as gently as possible to fix a curl that had flopped over his forehead. It fell right back down again and she sighed, smiling.

The ridiculousness of it all aside, she was charmed. He was an adorable sleeper. He looked much younger than his twenty-seven years, all peaceful and mussed.

And she'd feel uncomfortable, she realized, if she watched him sleep for much longer than she already had, so she slowly scooted back, away from his warmth, biting he lip at how reluctant she was to do this, and she eased herself out from under his arm, climbing up to stand beside the bed and fixing the sheets back over him.

Part of her wanted to go down and get some coffee. She was groggy and she could really use a strong brew right about now. But she didn't want to leave the room. She didn't want to be where she couldn't see him. Even for the fifteen minutes it would take her to go down and brew some coffee.

She just knew she couldn't go back to sleep, in spite of only getting maybe four hours. It was much more than she'd gotten the other two nights she had been alone with her "trust fund boy". She smirked to herself and slowly pulled her underthings back on, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around her blissfully satisfied figure, tying it shut. Knowing it would be a foggy, cool morning outside, in spite of the sun starting to sneak through a bit, she slipped her feet into slippers and slid open her balcony door, stepping out onto the dewy stones, taking a deep breath of fresh air and peering out at the waters of the River Tagus down at the bottom of the hill her house was perched on.

Sarah made sure to shut the door again, leaving it open just a crack, not wanting frigid fog-ridden air to flood into the room and make Chuck cold. It felt good to be out here now, though. Refreshing. Real.

And the events of last night, the resulting emotions, all came flooding through her again.

She still wasn't convinced this was right, even if nothing in her life had ever felt this good. She couldn't get past her own insecurities about it, though.

And that was the truth.

She absolutely wanted to protect him from her lifestyle. She knew he deserved better. But he was so adamant, so serious, almost...intense. And while half of her was thrilled, filled with adrenaline, the other half was admittedly afraid. She was afraid they'd rush into it, dive in headfirst, and he'd get to know her, _actually get to know her_ , and want to run in the other direction. Or, worse, since she'd never been in a legitimate romantic relationship with anyone before, let alone a serious one, how would she even know how to function? Exchanging words of love, clinging to him, sex...that was the easy part. The hard part happened when they both agreed to give this a try, and she was such a coward.

He wanted this when he had no idea of what laid ahead. He wanted this when he had no plan, no clue as to how to actually make this relationship work. If neither of them could think of a way…

But he didn't back down.

And she knew letting him literally sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed, letting herself enjoy the pleasures of how life-changingly talented he was when it came to making love, wasn't the healthiest plan.

She'd just wanted him so bad. She'd missed him so bad. And he had a way of bewitching her with the things he said, the looks he gave her. She wanted to feel how much he loved her, and she wanted him to feel how much she loved him, and Lord help her, she felt like such a mess of a person.

What would he think of her this morning when she reiterated what she'd said last night?

Maybe all of this _was_ too fast? They'd let their hearts cloud their brains. And maybe they'd let something else cloud their sense.

She was so scared. And she thought maybe he was too, but he was absolutely mad, because she thought he genuinely enjoyed that. He enjoyed how scared this made him. He enjoyed the fact that this whole relationship was a massive question mark.

It made him feel like he was living. Or whatever it was he kept saying over and over. As much as she loved him, she knew he was a spoiled rich boy, honestly. Because he thought that was enough.

But she was just flat-out scared. Because for her, it wasn't enough. For any normal person, it wouldn't be either, she thought.

He wouldn't feel like he was living if he got caught up in one of her schemes and ended up with a bullet in his back. Sacrifices or not, the truth of the matter was that Chuck would get brought into her world somehow. There was no way to be with a criminal and not get brought into it.

Just like she'd end up getting brought into his life—soirees and balls and fancy dinners and charity events, cameras flashing everywhere, documenting her face. She wasn't sure she wanted that. Could she even do it without being caught by someone? Had she covered her tracks well enough, made herself look forgettable enough during jobs?

She loved him so much he'd become a part of her. She felt it. Those days apart, so sure she was going to do everything in her power never to see him again, Sarah had been utterly miserable. She'd functioned well enough. She'd done what she had to do. She knew she _could_ live the rest of her life without Chuck Bartowski in it. She absolutely could. But the memory of him, her love for him, would follow her every step of the way. She just knew it.

This wasn't the kind of love that was in movies, literature, or sonnets. It wasn't fictional. It wasn't sweeping or all-consuming. It was nothing like the type of love that ate at you from the inside like in those Bronte novels. It was soul-deep and pure. She'd never cared so much about a person—to the point where all she wanted was for him to live happily, and freely. Even if it meant he did so without her, with some other woman. Granted, even thinking that lit a spark of jealousy in her breast.

She was human, after all.

And he'd just spent hours touching her in ways no other man had before—or at least, not with that much pure _skill_.

Sarah had to loosen the neck of the robe a bit and let more of the cool air grace her skin.

This was the kind of love that really stuck with you, wrapped up your heart in some sort of fortifying material—was it protection or imprisonment, though? She smirked wryly at that thought. That remained to be seen.

Love always had seemed like a sentence to her.

Not a death sentence—nothing was as melodramatic as Shakespeare and the Brontes made it. But a sentence, all the same.

And she was surprised to find that so far, a week or more into this romance of theirs, love felt like anything but that. It felt...freeing.

It startled her.

But she didn't trust it yet.

She trusted him. She trusted him with her life, she was concerned to realize, but she didn't trust this whole love business.

And God, she really was just frightened.

She jumped a bit at the sound of the door sliding open behind her.

"Sorry," Chuck said with a wince as she looked over her shoulder at him. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

She inwardly smirked.

Didn't he just?

"It's all right," she said. "I should probably do something about that door. It gets stuck. You have to pull it a bit harder and it makes that strange noise."

"Ah. Yes." He glanced at it. "I could take care of it for you."

She just smiled a little. "My big strong man fixing my jammed balcony door for me?"

He must have heard the tone in he voice because he shook his head and cleared his throat. "I don't mean it that way. I'm sure you could. What I mean is, you don't need a man to do things like this for you. I wasn't—"

"It's okay," she giggled. "I was just teasing you. I know what you mean. Sweet of you to offer."

"Oh." He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "I'm working off of a few hours of sleep here and I suppose that's made me slow on the...ahem…" He tapped his temple.

Sarah turned to face him fully and took him in. He was in his undershorts and the button-up shirt he'd been wearing when he surprised her at her front door. But he hadn't bothered buttoning it up, which was...pleasant.

"This city is gorgeous."

"Hm?" She blinked at him and turned to look back out at the view. "Well, when you can see it. The morning fog still hasn't cleared."

"I think fog is beautiful." He moved in next to her and leaned his elbows on the railing, not seeming to care that it was wet and would likely make his shirt dirty. "Life is beautiful. You're beautiful."

She let out a soft one syllable giggle through her nose. "Thank you."

He just watched her quietly for a few moments, reverently, she thought. And then he stood up straight and swept in close, wrapping one arm around her and leaning in for a long, intimate kiss. Her hands landed on his chest and she snuck them under the shirt, feeling his warm, smooth skin and hair there, stretched over the muscles beneath.

She was still confused and scared, but in this moment, with his lips against hers, his warm body pressed close, she felt her brain settle. So much wasn't making sense, but this did. Nothing made more sense than this.

What if she just let this happen?

As they pulled back from the kiss, as she smiled quietly up at him in the morning fog, she knew what might end up happening if she 'let this happen'. They'd rush into a relationship, she'd lose all of this, she'd maybe resent him, and he'd start resenting her…

"I know."

Sarah shook herself a bit and looked up at him in question.

He was smiling softly, moving his hand to tenderly cup her face. "You're still trying to decide. We talked about a lot last night, but we never...came to an agreement." He winced. "I'm sorry. That made it sound like a business arrangement." He swallowed and shook his head. "I'm still a bit caught up in how things have always been before this. All of my romances _have_ been like business arrangements," he scoffed.

She raised her eyebrows wordlessly and he must've realized belatedly how it sounded, because he went tense and his eyes widened. "Wait, no. Not...there wasn't money involved. Not in that way. Wow. No. I didn't—You're teasing me again, aren't you?"

Sarah laughed, giving his shirt a bit of a tug. "You're too easy."

"Damn you." When they both sobered a bit, he slid his hand over her hip. "What I meant is that they all felt like...business partnerships. Like something I had to do to be successful. A woman I had to be with because it looked good, because we both had rich families? I don't know. Am I making any sense?"

She nodded. "You are. I get it."

"Like I keep saying, you're different. No expectations. I don't have to worry about how it looks. I get to just enjoy how it feels." He made a cute growl sound as he leant down to kiss her neck and she shivered.

"But what about when the time comes when you do have to step out of the shadows, where we've been coexisting? What then?" He frowned, confused. "Those other women were on your arm at these soirees, there next to you when press took pictures and put them in their papers. You'll have to worry about how this looks if you take me out of the shadows with you." She sighed. "I'm not sure you're the sort of man who'd be all right keeping me hidden away, like I'm a shameful secret."

He sighed heavily. "I refuse to do that with you."

"It wouldn't offend me if you did keep me hidden away. But I figured that'd be what you might say anyway." She paused. "And I suppose, what kind of a relationship is possible when you only meet in the shadows? People would wonder about you."

"About me?" he asked.

"Yes. The famous bachelor who walks around with some rich fellow's daughter on your arm whenever you're seen at public events and suddenly, you're showing up with no one at all." She glared a little. "At least, you had better be."

He chuckled at that. "That's also not the type of person I am. You might not know me well yet, but you at least know that, I think."

"I do," she hummed, rubbing her hand over his arm. "But you see what I'm saying, don't you?"

"Well…" He paused. "Then I make less public appearances, I go to less events, skip the parties. No one need see me at all, with or without a rich man's daughter on my arm."

Sarah blinked. "What?"

"I'll be fully honest with you—not that I've done anything besides that from the beginning—" She had to give him that. "I know we discussed longevity that night in Saint-Tropez. And I know you might not think that's possible with us, but I do. I do, and I see us in the future."

"Hmm. Are we driving cars that fly?" She bit her cheek and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at herself. She was getting nervous and letting her poor wit have the floor. No man had ever made her say foolish things like that before. And she knew it was because she'd never lost control of herself with any other man. Chuck Bartowski didn't just make her lose control, she thought she was starting lose a bit of sense, as well. He'd probably find it exciting, like he thought her being a criminal was exciting. But she just found it terrifying.

Chuck gave her a flat look.

"Sorry," she breathed. But it earned her a giggle and damn him for making her insides melt.

"No, that wasn't exactly what I meant by future." She shrugged. "I mean that I can see us together, no shadows, no hiding. A real relationship. I can see in your face that you're doubtful." Had she made a face? Maybe she had. She _was_ doubtful. "But I believe we can do it. And I'm willing to fight for this, to get to that point where we can have a real, lasting relationship without having to sneak around."

"How?"

"You keep asking that and I keep telling you I don't know. But that's what I mean, Sarah. We don't need to have everything figured out right away. This is a complicated situation." He cleared his throat when she gave him a look. "A bit of an understatement, I know. Heh."

"It's incredibly complicated."

"But we can figure it out. Sarah Walker, you're the Ice Queen." He winced as her eyes hardened a bit. "Sorry. I just mean that you're a mastermind."

"A criminal mastermind."

"Fine, yes. That. But we can't throw this away just because we can't see a clear path at the moment. And maybe-maybe there is no clear path. Maybe we have to make one. Hack at the vines and shrubbery blocking the path with a machete. I don't know! I'm bad at metaphors!"

Sarah laughed, charmed to the deepest recesses of her soul. "Any metaphor that uses a machete is a good metaphor."

He laughed this time, and then he cupped her face, his amber eyes swirling as he looked at her. "I love you. I will do anything to make this work for both of us. Not just me. Both of us. I'll keep a low profile for a bit and you…"

"Shall I also keep a low profile?" she drawled a bit sardonically, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"I don't quite know what that would mean, so I'm reluctant to answer with anything more than a 'maybe'." He gave her a tired smile. "But let's just try to give it some time. You don't have to give up your life and come live with me in my Los Angeles mansion. In fact, I promise you right now that I won't ever push you to do anything you don't want to do. I'm not going to hurry you. I'm not setting parameters. I just want to be with you. I don't want to lose you. I want to know when we part this time that I'm gonna see you again."

Sarah had to lean to the side, against the railing, afraid her legs might not hold her up. He'd just given her quite a bit to think about. But most importantly, he'd just opened the door for her without pushing her through it, without even expecting her to go through it. It was just...open. And he waited on the other side.

"So...we ease into this?" she asked. "And you're sure you'd be all right with that? As a relationship?" She smoothed a hand down her robe. "I-I mean, I don't know what I mean. I think you might be crazy and it's somehow rubbing off onto me."

"Hey, who of the two of us is a jewel thief?"

"Ahhh." She beamed and shook her finger at him. "Touché."

He chuckled. "Easing into it is exactly what I propose. That gives us time to figure out how to compromise to make our lifestyles fit in a way that makes us both happy. _Both of us_ ," he emphasized again.

"And hope it isn't like when you're doing a puzzle and there's a piece that doesn't fit, but you still try to jam it in anyway…"

This time he laughed. "You're fantastic at metaphors, even if I don't think that's what it'll be like."

She sniffed in amusement. "What makes you so sure?"

"I adore you. I've said it thousands of times, but I'll say it again. I will fight for you. No matter what that means. I will compromise. We will take it one day at a time, and in the meantime, we'll come up with something. I've managed to protect my family's fortune the last ten years and it wasn't by partying. You're a mastermind, I'm a master compromiser. We've got everything we need. Including time, thanks to Carina." Then he made a thoughtful face and chuckled.

"What?" she prompted.

"Nothin'. I was just…" He shook his head. "My brother-in-law has been calling himself a champion of love this whole time in support of me, this. Us, I mean. But I think the real champion of love is Carina."

Sarah barked out a laugh. "Oh, please God. Promise me you never say that to her face. I love you too much to see you go so soon."

He pressed his lips together and widened his eyes in faux terror. "Done."

Sarah became quiet then, thoughtful, and she turned to watch as the fog began to clear, the sun showing itself more and more as the morning stretched on.

Chuck Bartowski was a good man, in every last sense of the word. She remembered what he'd said about the different definitions of good, and how she was good in all the ways that mattered to him. It was something she'd remember for the rest of her life, no matter what happened next. It was a gift he'd given her and whether he was right about their future or not, she would cling to this forever.

But he was all the way good. And it was so hard to resist the temptation to just jump into his arms and say yes to whatever hair brained scheme he came up with for them to be together.

He was offering her all of himself. And she'd be mad not to take him up on it.

It was more than that, though. Because he wasn't just offering himself, he was giving her the space and time to continue her life exactly the way it was, continue pulling cons, stealing, and everything else she'd done before him. She knew, though, that the relationship wouldn't work longterm if she didn't make some changes. She would have to make changes.

He seemed willing to make changes on his side. Could she get there eventually? And what if he gave her this time, they wracked their brains for a way to make it work, and she wasn't willing to compromise, make a few changes to her lifestyle? What if she was too selfish?

"Sarah, there's something else I feel like I need to say. Just—Just to put it out there. Lay all my cards out on the table." She turned to watch him closely as he cleared his throat and moved in close, their bodies touching as he put a hand on her upper arm and squeezed gently. Reassuringly, almost. "If you still stand by what you said in Saint-Tropez, if you don't want this, if you really don't, I'll—" He swallowed thickly and looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath, before swinging his gaze back to hers. "I won't keep chasing you down. I won't keep showing up at your doorstep. If you want it, I'll fight to make it happen, where we're both at a point in which we're happy together. But all you have to do is tell me to stop, and really mean it, and I'll stop, Sarah Walker. As much as I don't want to. As much as I love you. I never want to be the person that makes you unhappy."

Sarah Walker felt something click inside of her, something deep down inside of her chest. And for once in this whole mess of a whirlwind romance, she felt her brain and her heart stop battling. They joined forces as she slowly smiled up at him.

"I love you more than anything in the world, Chuck Bartowski."

She watched as a slow, uncertain smile started on his handsome face. She took a deep breath.

"We're doing this."

He looked baffled for a moment. "W-What?"

"You're willing to fight for me, make compromises, whatever those might end up being?" He nodded. "I'm going to fight, too. I'm scared about what sort of a sacrifice I might have to make here, but I've been scared of things before. I've gotten past it. So I'm scared, but if you give me the time to choose, to come to terms with it, we can make this relationship work. I have no damn idea how…" She giggled at the explosive grin on his face, and then he sprung at her, hugging her so tight she lost her breath for a moment. She didn't care. She just hugged him back, shutting her eyes and beaming in utter bliss. "As long as you don't give up, I won't, either. Is it a deal?"

"God, yes," he said breathlessly. "Absolutely. One hundred percent. I'll never quit on you. No matter what." He pulled back and cupped her face in both hands. "We can deal with the rest of it together. Whatever that entails. We'll figure it all out."

"I have faith in you…" He narrowed his eyes a bit and she giggled. "And me. I have faith in me, too."

Amused, he dove in for another tight hug. "Before you say it, I'll say it. We're crazy," he muttered.

She hummed out a quiet chuckle. "But I have to admit, it feels amazing."

He groaned and turned his face into her hair. "I can think of a way we can celebrate this momentous occasion that might feel even better…"

Sarah bit her lip and slowly pulled back, letting her eyes drag down his body and back up again, spending time checking out his chest. She didn't even try to hide the desire in her blue eyes. "Making coffee?" she teased.

Chuck laughed. "Uuuhhh...nnno."

"A game of cards?"

"Would you cut that out and just take me back to bed already?"

Her eyebrows popped and she grabbed his hand, doing just that.

}o{

He had no idea what time it was when he awoke, but he smelled something delicious, like some type of bread. And coffee. He smelled coffee, as well.

Had he fallen asleep again? Or had last night, and this morning again, been a cruel dream? He was almost afraid to open his eyes, afraid he'd be back in his hotel suite across town, having never actually found her, the address Carina had given him a joke.

But then he felt gentle fingers touch his face and stroke up into his hair, playing with his curls. And he smiled a closed-mouth smile that stretched across his whole face. "Please tell me I'm in Sarah Walker's bed still…"

"You're in Sarah Walker's bed still," she said with a short bubbly giggle.

He groaned happily and reached his arm out, his hand landing on her bare leg. With where it was positioned in the bed, he thought she was sitting up against the headboard, perhaps waiting for him to wake up? Or was she simply watching him sleep?

That was a nice thought.

And he was finally confident enough in this not being a dream that he blinked his eyes open, yawning with a bit of a lion's roar coming out of his mouth. She giggled again, and he saw he was right. She was sitting up with pillows propped behind her, reaching over to play with his hair still. "Good morning, again."

"Is it still morning? I have no idea what time it is." Then he paused and made a face. "Strike that. I don't care what time it is." And then he scooted close and wrapped his arm around her middle, nuzzling her hip that was covered with a shift. That was all she wore, her hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail, her legs and feet bare.

"It's still morning…just. But you're right. It doesn't matter. Though I did take it upon myself to finally get out of your warm embrace to go downstairs and get us some food. And coffee." He moved back a bit and let her go so that she could reach over to the nightstand and lift a tray that was there, piled with toast and fruit and cheese, two mugs of coffee on either side of it.

Chuck's stomach rumbled loudly.

"Mhm, I thought that'd be the case," she giggled as he blushed.

"You're incredible."

"All I did was slice some fruit, cheese, bread, and use a toaster. Not much went into it."

He moved to sit up and helped her set the tray on both of their laps. It meant having to sit a lot closer to her and even put his arm around her shoulders and he was fine with it. "I appreciate you anyway."

Suddenly, there was a loud crash in the hallway, a curse, and then an angry hiss of words Chuck couldn't quite make out. He and Sarah exchanged a look, his startled, Sarah's tired.

"Nothing!" came Carina's muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Just go back to your breakfast in bed!"

Grumbling, Sarah handed him the tray and tossed the half piece of toast she'd been munching back onto the plate, crawling away from his hold on her and getting out of bed. "It's like they're teenagers sometimes."

She threw her robe on over the shift she wore but didn't bother tying it, he mused, and then she stomped over to the door and ripped it open. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, stepping out and shutting the door behind her.

Chuck just picked up a piece of cheese and shoved it in his mouth with a slice of apple, munching happily and leaning back more into the pillows. At some point, he knew Ellie would want to hear from him. And he finally made himself look at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly one in the afternoon. No wonder he was so hungry. And he'd been so nervous about seeing Sarah again that he'd barely eaten anything the day before.

Like he was some sort of teenager instead of a grown man.

But like he continually had to remind himself, apparently, she was more important than anything that had ever happened in his life. This was big. She was different.

He shoved half of a slice of toast in his mouth in one bite and chewed ravenously, shirking any manners Sally and Philip had taught him as a boy. His parents had helped but the methods of his maid and butler had been much more effective.

Nobody was here now to care that he had a glob of butter just above his lip that he was now trying to catch with his tongue sticking out of his mouth.

Just then Sarah came back in and stopped halfway into the room, staring at him.

"Um…" He cleared his throat. "I'm...hungry."

She snorted and came all the way in, shutting the door again...and locking it, he noticed. Interesting…

"You looked like such a kid."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Eat as much as you need. You're gonna need your energy—"

But the salacious look on her face was interrupted by the sound of a horn outside. She went tense immediately, and the playful, mischievous, warm woman he'd been privileged to know these last few hours was gone, replaced by the enigmatic robber woman. She swept her gaze away from his and looked at the balcony doors, before crossing the room and clicking the door open.

"What is it?" Chuck asked.

"That's Jay's signal."

Oh.

He realized belatedly that the bulky man who'd tricked him almost a week ago was missing the last fifteen or so hours since Chuck had knocked on Sarah's door.

"What does that mean?" Chuck asked, moving the tray off of his lap and getting out of bed carefully. "Is everything all right? Do we have to run?" He crossed to her side and looked out of the doors, too. He couldn't see anything.

"Sh...wait…" She put a hand on his arm and squeezed.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. And then there was another short: _beep beep_!

Sarah looked a bit relieved, but she still worried her lip between her teeth.

"What is it?" he whispered. "Should we go?"

She gave him a long look, and then she shook her head. "No. It's safe."

"Those were the last two honks, right? The first one to let you know he's here, the second and third to let you know nobody's tailing 'im." He bit his lip in excitement as she nodded and gave him an amused look. "I read a lot of Chandler and Hammett."

"That doesn't surprise me." And then she shook herself and pulled away. "This has been fun, Chuck," she said, hurrying over to her armoire and opening it to start dressing. She turned to give him another long look, and then she shook herself again and went back to dressing. "Really fun. But this is important and I need to get back to business."

Chuck took her cue and began to dress as well, not even noticing his clothes could use an ironing or two. "Where's he been? Jay, I mean."

"An accomplice of ours—old friend of Jay's—has a boat. That's where we put most of the loot. Jay sailed with him from…" she grunted pulling her dress up her body, shoving her shift inside of it. "...Calvi. It took them a few days to get to Lisbon. We split up."

"So as not to draw attention. Ahhhh...that's really very smart."

She sent him a small smirk and sniffed. "We've been doing this for a while, Chuck. We've got plenty more where that came from."

"I'm sure."

"Anyway, he's driven up from the docks now to get our help. The loot is down there at the boat, he needs help bringing it to our warehouse, and we have to hurry."

"Oh. Right, right…" He rushed to button his shirt, tucking it into his trousers and fastening them, buckling his belt. He grabbed his suit jacket and shrugged that on as well. "Tie...tie, where's my tie?"

"Um...I don't—Can you zip this dress, please? I haven't seen your tie."

Chuck rushed over, zipping her dress up for her. "Did I not wear one?"

"You had a tie. I remember having it in my hand at some point."

"Damn it…" But then he realized, standing here like this, latching her dress for her, asking if she'd seen his tie, how beautifully intimate this was. And not in a sexual way, either. This was how he imagined it felt to be...more than just…

There was a loud banging on the door to the bedroom.

"Everybody put your pants back on in there!" Carina bellowed. "It's time to go!"

Chuck rolled his eyes this time and went over to the door, opening it. "My pants are on, thank you."

"Oh, good." She smirked at him, then held up a tie. "By the way, I, uh...found this around the knob on the bannister this morning when I got home from the nightclub. It wouldn't happen to be yours, would it?"

Chuck turned scarlet as Sarah pushed past him into the hallway, still putting on her second shoe. "Carina, leave him—"

"Ladies, let's hurry it up!" Jay bellowed from downstairs. "Don't got all day and those boxes ain't movin' themselves into the warehouse!"

Carina still had Chuck's tie hanging from a finger. "Keep your trousers on, ya bastard!" the redhead bellowed back. Chuck snagged his tie and quickly swept it over his head, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt to get it underneath.

"Carina, we're right behind you," Sarah muttered, batting Chuck's hands away and fixing his tie for him.

"Oh, he's going to throw an absolute _fit_ when he sees this one," the other woman whispered, her blue eyes lit in glee. She practically skipped to the stairs and swung down the steps. "Boy, have we got a surprise for you John-John…"

"Don't call me that. An' what do ya mean by surprise?"

That was when Chuck and Sarah emerged at the top landing. Jay's eyes swept up and widened, his jaw going slack. "The hell is Trust Fund doin' here?"

"I'm just going to have to get used to that name, aren't I?"

"Surprised you aren't yet," Sarah muttered.

"Hafta get used to it?" Jay asked, raising his eyebrows. "The hell's goin' on? Look, Boss, I thought he was s'posed to be a one night…" Then he shivered and shook his head. "M'not finishing that sentence. Thought you left this behind in Saint-Tropez."

 _This? Thanks a lot, ol' pal…_

"I did. He followed. Accept it."

Jay shrugged.

And that was that.

"That was easy," Chuck whispered to Sarah as they hurried down the stairs.

"That's Jay."

But then when they got to the bottom of the stairs, Zondra and Carina were already walking out of the door. "We'll wait for you at the car."

"Chuck."

He spun to face Sarah and saluted.

"Yes, Boss. What are your orders? How can I help? What do you want me to do?"

She sighed and put her hands on his chest. "I need you to go back to your hotel."

Chuck frowned deeply, surprised. "What? Why? He said something about moving boxes. I can help."

"Chuck, that's stolen loot. It's jewelry that you could end up going to prison for if you're caught there with us. I'm not letting that happen."

"What? You're just going to send me home while you all—"

"Yes, Chuck. I am."

Jay threw his hands out, palms up. "You bring him into the fold, but he doesn't gotta do any of the work?"

"He isn't in the fold!" Sarah snapped. Chuck couldn't help feeling a bit hurt. "Jay, wait in the car. I'll be out in a minute." The other man grunted in frustration, sent Chuck one last look, and went out the door. "Chuck, you aren't a part of this. You can't be a part of this. Ever."

"I'm just—"

"No," she said, very firmly.

"Why?!" he asked. "I'm here! I can help!"

"Because I won't let you, Chuck." He just stared at her as she put her hands on either side of his face, her eyes willing him to understand. "I won't let you be involved in this part of my life. I won't pull you into this. I'm not making you a criminal."

"Sarah, unloading a boat and—"

"No, not even that. I'm taking this step, with you, but I'm not compromising where your safety is concerned. You need to protect yourself, and let me handle all of this. Please. I have to do this without you, and you have to be all right with it. You have to be all right with not being involved in my criminal activities, whatever they may be, however long I'm…in the business. Because I'm never going to change my mind on this. You cannot be connected with theft, robbery…with anything that I do." She went up onto her tiptoes and kissing him solidly.

When she pulled back, he made a pitiful face, but nodded. Her words finally sinking in, he realized that she was right. Yes, she was protecting him, but he had to admit, he'd only get in the way. Not only that, he didn't much relish the idea of being a criminal himself. Sarah's insistence of how dangerous that world was had finally made sense. She knew what she was doing here.

He did not.

And he needed to give her time. And space.

So he nodded again, more sincerely this time, his brow furrowed. "No, you're right. You're right, Sarah. Be careful, though, huh?" He pulled her in and kissed her, wrapping her up in his arms.

"You, too, rich boy," she breathed against his lips.

Just then the door burst open. "Christ, Boss! Let's go!" Jay snapped. "You got all night for this crap!"

Sarah pulled away from him then as Jay ducked back outside, and before she could get too far, Chuck held fast to her hand, forcing her to turn back to him. "Chuck, I have to go. We have a specific timeline for this."

"I know, I just… Please. Please, Sarah. Don't disappear on me."

Her brow furrowed and she stared at him for a long time.

"Don't go out that door and disappear forever, go where I can't find you again. Please."

"Chuck, I won't. I promise. I'll call you." She rushed to the door and he dashed after her, the door slamming behind him as he nearly tripped on the front steps, catching his footing at the bottom.

"Palácio Ampla," he called out as she got to the car. She gave him one last look over her shoulder before she lowered herself into the backseat and shut the door, the car speeding down the driveway, out of the gate, and away from him.

}o{

He tried not to dwell on the look in her eyes when she'd glanced over her shoulder before getting into the car.

But during the refreshing stroll through the streets of Lisbon, up and down the hills, in the general direction of his hotel, the Palácio Ampla, he couldn't help thinking that maybe there was something there. Something she hadn't meant him to see.

Was she really disappearing?

With the way they'd all dashed to the car…

What if she meant to see him again but they ended up being caught by Lisbon's police force at the docks? What if she was arrested and he never knew, and he ended up going through life thinking she'd run off again, this time to somewhere he couldn't follow?

And then there was the more likely chance that he was being ridiculous, that she meant what she'd said.

Why would she agree to be with him, agree to fight for him, for this, if she meant to just get out of Dodge again?

Maybe if she'd thought then that she was safe, free to mean what she'd said to him this morning, and Jay's two honks on the horn actually meant something else...that they had to run. That things weren't safe, she'd realized that she'd made a promise she couldn't keep.

By the time he managed his way back to his hotel, he'd worked himself into an almost panic. Should he go to the docks, he wondered? Or just wait and hope?

When he got to his suite, his best friend was hurrying down the hallway from his own. "Chuck!"

"Oh. Morgan. You—"

He was cut off by the shorter man practically tackling him with a hug, squeezing him tight. "You're all right!"

"Of course I am. What made you think I wasn't? I was with her."

"All this time?" The bearded fellow's eyes widened. "Wowie, Chuck. Woooowie."

"Okay, quit with the wowies."

"So I take it everything went hunky-dory."

"Yes," he said, smiling. "Everything's hunky-dory. …I think."

"What d'you mean you think?"

"Hold that thought. Where are Devon and Ellie?"

"The beach. I told them to go, have fun, not worry about you. The whole 'no news is good news' thing. And I promised I'd wait here for when you came back. And here you are."

"Here I am."

"But you're worried."

Chuck let out a huff, then went to his door and unlocked it, opening it, flicking his head a bit so that Morgan would go inside.

Once they were alone inside of his suite, Chuck sighed and went to open the balcony door to let fresh air in. It was a little stuffy.

"What is it, ol' pal?"

"I'm probably just getting trapped in my own head. Overthinking. Stressing. But she-she promised to give this a try, us."

"She's...a robber."

"She is, but...I think we can make it work."

Morgan just stared, one eyebrow raised. Then he tilted his head, pursed his lips, and shrugged. "All right, we'll go with that."

Chuck smiled for a second, then sobered up again.

"They brought the loot here. Well, I mean...one of them brought it over on a boat. That's not important, though. They had to go unload the boat and put it in some warehouse. That's also not important."

"You don't have to tell me what is and isn't important, Chuck. You can just say things."

"Right, sorry," Chuck said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. Uh…Sarah wouldn't let me come with her; she insisted I come back here and she told me she'd call me when she's done, when it's safe again."

Morgan nodded. "So you're not an accessory. Makes sense."

"I know, I know. I wanted to help but she refused. And she's right. That's something I'm going to have to come to terms with in this relationship." He paused, his shoulders sagging as he turned to look at his best friend and assistant. "If there ends up being one."

"Now I'm confused."

Chuck slumped into the couch and untied his shoes, kicking them off and wincing, wiggling his toes. That had been a lot of walking, and while he considered himself in good shape, those hills had been something else. Especially in these shoes.

"I got up in my head while I was walking through the city. After she left, I mean."

"Oh, boy. Bad things happen when you do that, Chuck."

"I know," he groaned.

"You get so lost up in there and it's really hard for us to get you out." Morgan sat on the coffee table in front of the couch and pat Chuck's knee supportively. "But I'm gonna try still. That's what I'm here for."

Chuck smirked and nodded. And then he became serious again, leaning toward Morgan conspiratorially. "Morgan, do you remember that heist movie we saw when we were…oh, it must have been five or six years ago. These fellas hit a bank and they have to split up. A few of 'em in a car, the others on foot. They go to this hideout and are in there waiting for the fellas in the car. So a car pulls up and honks a signal. Do you remember if it was one or two honks? Was it a beep? Or a beepbeep?"

The shorter man just gawked for a few moments, then cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Er, well...I don't, erm...do you remember what the movie was called? And also what does this have to do with...well, anything?"

"Her partner who took the boat of loot to Lisbon came back to the house in his car and honked once...then waited for about thirty seconds and honked twice in succession, like beepbeep."

"All riiiight…?"

"Sa—" He stopped himself and bit the inside of his cheek in reprimand. "She said that those two later honks meant the coast was clear, that nobody was following him. Well, actually, _I_ said that was what it was and she confirmed it. But what if she just confirmed it because I gave her a good lie?"

"A lie?"

"I started thinking that maybe those two beeps weren't the signal that he hadn't been followed. Instead, they were a signal that he _had_ and he was telling them they had to run. That was why they all dashed to the car as fast as they had. Though she didn't seem as frazzled or rushed when she was getting dressed."

He realized what he said a beat after Morgan did, and he had to fend off the shorter man's "Oh ho ho ho's" and fingers darting in to poke at his shoulders and chest.

"Morgan, stop it! What if she lied to me so that I didn't protest, and she was actually running away? She gave me a look, almost...wistful...I dunno how else to describe it…"

"When?"

"Right as she got in the car, before they sped off. Buddy, I'm terrified that I've just seen her for the last time. This time for real. I don't want to be without her. I love her, Morgan."

"Whoa, now. Whoa." The bearded man held up both hands conciliatorially. "You say you love her."

"I do."

"So you should trust her, don't you think? Trust that what she said was the truth."

Chuck frowned. "You made that sound very easy."

"Maybe it _is_ easy, my friend. You fell in love with a sexy enigma, Charles Irving Bartowski. A sexy enigma who also happens to be a professional thief, a robber. If you're going to be with her, you have to make the decision about whether or not to accept what comes with that. She isn't Irma Carpenter the Carpenter Gas Company heir, where you'll get beauty, grace, stories about her father's business partner who she's unnervingly obsessed with," Chuck choked a bit at that, "and...well, you understand. She came with pretty normal, regular...troubles. This woman you love is going to come with some far-out troubles, my friend. Far. Out."

"That's…" Chuck paused, thoughtfully. "That's actually very wise, Morgan. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Morgan preened. "But what's your decision?"

"Oh, easy. I'm accepting anything and everything that comes with her, with this relationship. No matter how… far-out it is."

His friend gave him a slow happy smile. "That's nice. Well, then...Maybe you should just trust in her, believe her."

"I've talked myself out of thinking she was lying, I think. But what if she made all of those promises, went to the docks to unload everything, and was caught by police? What if she doesn't have a choice?"

"Maybe that's part of this whole arrangement, too? You're with a criminal...what if she gets caught? Where does that leave you? And most importantly, is it worth it?"

"It's worth it. She's worth it. She is worth everything."

"Listen, I saw her redheaded friend for a total of a minute, maybe two, and I'm willing to bet she's worth just about anything. So I understand. I couldn't sleep last night. She just stood there smiling at me, those eyes of hers flashing...those crystal blue eyes like...the iceberg that sank the Titanic. Oh, how I'd like to be the Titanic that crashes into that iceberg." He sighed dreamily.

Chuck just let out a soft laugh and shook his head. "That one is...a firecracker. Most confusing, unpredictable person I've ever met in my life."

"She sounds perfect."

"Hardly. But I'm not one to judge."

"Who _is_?"

He chuckled and went to the phone, ringing for some champagne to be sent up to the room. If he was trusting Sarah, in spite of the worry still pricking at his heart, he was going to celebrate with his best friend. Because today, the woman of his dreams, the love of his life, told him she was ready to fight for them to be together. And that felt more enduring than anything else either of them had said.

}o{

It was after one in the morning by the time Chuck climbed out of his bath and wrapped himself in a towel.

He'd spent all night telling Ellie and Devon what had happened. Rather, he more explained to them what he and Sarah were planning. Their future that wasn't so much set in stone as it was...malleable, changeable. Ellie had been concerned, to say the least. But his happiness had won her over.

He didn't explain his worries to his sister and brother-in-law. He wasn't sure what sort of an answer they'd give him, and he was happy with the response he'd gotten from Morgan. It was optimistic. It made him feel a bit less worried, even if the worry was still there.

And then there was the fact that he had no idea when Sarah would finish with getting the loot from the boat to the warehouse, and...well, whatever else they were planning on doing with it. He assumed they'd wait until nightfall and slowly but surely take it back to Sarah's house where they might hide it safely.

Would it take her until tomorrow? He thought that he most likely wouldn't hear from her tonight now that it was this late.

More than anything, he just wanted to know she was safe.

But her response to him this morning on that balcony, how serious and sincere she was, made him feel a peace nothing else in his life ever had. He hadn't felt this hopeful since the war ended—maybe he was even a bit more hopeful. And maybe that made him selfish, but as for himself, his own life, he felt like he was taking the right steps, in the right direction, with the right person. Knowing she'd be there, in whatever capacity they could make this work, as it grew and evolved and became something different as time went on, made him feel so much calm happiness.

He didn't understand how one person could make him feel like a volcano was erupting inside of him, and also make him feel calm happiness at the same time. Who was this woman? And how could he be sure he'd get to spend the rest of his life with her? ...Without letting her know his thoughts were _this intense_?

They would figure it out together. They would ease into this. He would stay out of her con jobs. He would protect himself the way she asked him to. And he would protect her, too. He would protect her from the harsh limelight of his own life, his own career.

All the while, they would enjoy each other.

If she ever came back.

And there was that frustratingly negative voice in his head again.

Chuck pulled on his sleeping clothes quickly, wanting to just fall into bed. He wouldn't need to read in bed to fall asleep tonight. Walking in the Lisbon sun for such a long time today, the lack of sleep he'd gotten being with Sarah the night before, had exhausted him.

It was when he was out in the main room of his suite, shutting and locking the balcony door, turning off all of the lights, that he heard a strange sound in the bedroom. He froze.

There was a shuffling sound in the room, he heard it, like feet scuffing on wood.

And then it stopped.

He felt warmth, though, instead of a chill. And he knew before she even said a word.

"I don't know why you insisted on a room on the eighth floor. I'm not a spider, you know."

Chuck grinned and turned to face her. The light was streaming out of his bedroom and she stood in the doorway, her features blocked in shadow, her incredible figure highlighted in the doorframe.

"I'm sorry. If I'd known you'd be scaling the outside wall of the hotel, I would've picked something on the fourth or fifth floor."

"That's still a bit high."

He crossed his arms at his chest and took a few steps towards her. "I have to make you work _a little_."

She giggled, dropping her arms to her sides, and he closed the distance, practically running, their bodies making contact a bit harder than he meant to. But he just held her, staggering a bit into the bedroom, finding his feet, and clinging.

"You all right?" she asked, sounding a bit winded.

"Are _you_? You climbed eight floors!"

Sarah pulled back, looking up at him with an amused glint in her eye. He took her in and marveled at her in her black sweater and black pants again. Same clothes she'd worn that first night.

"I'd love to lie and tell you I climbed eight floors, but that'd be terribly foolish for a human to do without a grapple and a hook. This hotel has ten floors. I snuck up through the hotel to the roof and climbed down two. It's a lot safer." She bounced once shoulder adorably.

"That...makes much more sense. You're a marvel, Sarah Walker." He wrapped her up in his arms again. "I'm so glad to see you. Is everything all right? Did it all go smoothly? Carina, Zondra, Jay…they're safe?"

Her eyes sparkled a bit as she pulled back and smiled at him. "It's all gone according to plan. And...I hope you don't mind, but that's all I think I should say about it. I meant it earlier, when I said I don't want you being caught up in all of this."

"I know you did." He framed her face with his hands. "If that's what you need, if that's one of your requirements for this relationship, I'm going to respect that."

She waited a beat and then threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing him long, passionate…

And when they finally pulled away, he took her hand and walked her to his bed where he gently made her sit on the edge. He knelt in front of her and with tender hands, he removed her shoes and her socks, letting her climb inside of his bed.

He climbed in next to her and as she lay on her side, he curled up behind her, spooning her strong form with his own. Holding her close to his chest, he breathed in the scent of her hair, and then kissed her cheek, down to her neck, and back up again as she sighed happily.

"Chuck…?"

"Hm?"

There was a long pause.

"What do we do now?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Yeah, so I got to the end while editing, still waffling on whether to finish the whole thing on this story or not, and I was like okaaaaaay no. I can't stop here. That's almost _mean_. So I won't. I'm evil, but not _that_ evil. And more importantly, while I'm evil, I don't think I'm a bad storyteller. Hahaha!

Please review and thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll figure out how to end this sooner rather than later!

-SC


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Well, this finally happened, huh? I mean, how many months later? Sorry, folks. New job, new resonsibili-Hahahaha who am I kidding? I've been writing 13,589 fics at once and it just took me a long time to figure this ending out. LOL like I'd ever let adulting get in the way of writing my Chuck fic. (I need help, maybe.) After the long wait, I hope this is worth it. I tried to give some closure. It took me a heinously long time to figure out how to make it work.

A few folks hated this story and made it known, so hopefully those few are gone by now, since that's what adults do when they don't like things. Kay enjoy byyyeeee!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters.

* * *

She'd misjudged how hard it would be to build this con. It made sense, though, in hindsight. This was the biggest and most intense con of her entire life, wasn't it? This one _had_ to work. Her future was on the line. The potential for happiness in her existence depended on pulling this off.

But she had a good team of professionals working with her. And the best PR man in the business.

And the clout of one of the most powerful names in America was backing her up, too.

Although, not publicly. At least, not yet.

Six months had passed since Lisbon.

Six months of clandestine meet-ups in other countries, whirlwind weekends holed up in hotel suites…and just as Chuck Bartowski promised his robber, he hadn't pushed her a bit. He hadn't rushed this. They'd just enjoyed the time they spent together, a few days, sometimes even a week or two of warmth and love and long, deep, personal discussions about their lives…and then there'd be weeks apart, sometimes more than a month even.

It was hard for her to be away from him. Too hard.

And that was why planning started to become part of their reunions. There was genuine searching for a solution. They made pros and cons lists. They spent time consulting her team, consulting Morgan, and even Ellie and Devon. Though…she still had only really met Ellie a handful of times. That was still an interesting dynamic Sarah would have to figure out. His sister still didn't trust her. And she didn't blame her. She'd even told her as much and had gotten a, "thanks for the support" that had been less than sincere. She didn't even blame Ellie for _that_ response. She just hoped she could actually get to a place where Devon wasn't the only Woodcomb who approved of her. Their very own champion of love, he was.

And yet, even with Ellie's mistrust and tentativeness, she was a part of the planning. It was a testament to her character, Sarah thought. That she was putting Chuck's happiness above everything else in that way.

It wasn't an easy prospect, inventing a backstory out of thin air that didn't seem like it was out of thin air. Presenting a person to a society that had never heard of her, that had barely any record of her existence before, without anyone catching on that they'd never heard of her because she _hadn't_ existed…

And could that be any more convoluted?

She and Chuck had worked tirelessly on figuring out how to play it, how to make this subtle enough that no one cared to dig too hard, but that it was believable. They'd built a protective veil around Sarah Walker, new money heiress, and her family history without making it look like the veil was purposeful.

The original idea they'd had was to not cast her as a part of the high class, make her working class—a waitress he met at a restaurant, or a social worker, or a professor—someone nobody would have ever heard of in the Bartowskis' circles. But Ellie had brought up a good point with Chuck while he and Sarah had been apart for a few weeks towards the beginning of their planning. That would be something of a scandal; Chuck Bartowski marrying someone outside of his class, someone of inferior means. It was almost nineteen-fifty-four, and the country wasn't the way it had been fifty years ago, even thirty years ago. Social class wasn't as big of an impediment to love as it had once been, but it was still something that would be plastered all over the newspapers, in all of the gossip rags, and Chuck and Sarah would get unwanted attention. More so than usual.

That wasn't something that would help them.

If they could just quietly sneak Sarah Walker into society, make her impervious to intrigue, boring even to the media at large, that would be for the best.

And so they invented an elderly uncle who'd died, and she was Uncle Philip Walker's only living heir who'd quietly taken on the money, sold his home, and eased into a solitary life while protecting herself from too much attention. Uncle Philip, just like all of the Walkers, had kept his affairs private by conducting most of his business abroad, hence why he never showed up before.

Sarah had then taken on the rest of the con alone, using her years of experience as a con woman to sneak her existence out amongst the top of the social hierarchy. Eyebrows were raised, curiousness piqued, and she'd gotten her first invitation to a luncheon. That done with, she'd gotten another…and then another…

Three months of slowly ingratiating herself into Charles Bartowski's world had finally paid off, though. She'd gotten almost no attention from the media, slipping in and out of parties, being introduced around the room, admired for her beauty, asked questions about her uncle's involvement in the oil business, but generally not made a fuss over, thankfully. And now Harriet Rowland had invited her to the same gala as Devon and Eleanor Woodcomb, and Eleanor's single bachelor brother Charles Bartowski would be there as well.

She was nervous, and she missed her team.

They were pulling a job without her, in a place she'd asked them not to tell her, just in case. The last time she'd seen Carina, Zondra, and Jay had been two months ago, when they'd all converged in her downtown Los Angeles suite, in a high rise hotel called the Grand Industrial. It had been bittersweet. They knew they'd only see her on and off from that point on, as they continued the con life without her.

But she and Chuck had both neglected to talk about her own involvement in the con life now that they were taking this step, or rather now that _she_ was taking this step. She'd still done jobs with her team in those first few months after Lisbon. She hadn't given Chuck specifics, but he'd known she hadn't quit and he hadn't complained or asked her to stop. She hadn't even seen unease in his face when he'd asked her about it. Instead, there was that ever-present sparkle in his eyes, like it still excited him. The nut.

She was in this high society now, though. And that had meant no jobs the last three months. Just building her persona, inserting herself into this world of Chuck's, and making sure there weren't any murmurings of familiarity. The moment she was recognized, she'd have to disappear again, but it seemed her story was believable enough, her private mien acceptable enough, that nobody would ever guess she might be the Ice Queen. Perhaps it was just too insane for anyone to ever suspect. Nobody could be crazy enough to take this kind of a risk, put themselves in this much danger of being found out.

This was truly insane.

She smiled as she made her way to a small group that included the host, Harriet Rowland. Harriet turned and fluffed at her short, curly black hair, pinned back from her forehead stylishly. "Oh, Sarah, darling! So glad you could come." The other woman put her hand on her arm and leaned in for a light kiss on her cheek. "I know how you hate these soirees."

Sarah giggled and shook her head. "Oh, now. I never said I hate them. I'm still getting used to all of this, you know."

Harriet turned and introduced her to the small group she was standing in, and the forty-something looking man standing across from her with his arm around his wife shook her hand heartily. "It's a pleasure to put a face to the name. I think I heard of your uncle, maybe even did business with him. Philip Walker. Good chap. I'm sorry for you loss, Miss Walker. See, I'm not in oil, but automobiles…"

She inwardly laughed. Philip Walker hadn't existed, but if people wanted to lie to make themselves seem more connected, and therefore back up her story, she wasn't going to complain. She might send the man some flowers even.

Sarah couldn't exactly make herself into a wallflower, even amongst these pretty, well-dressed people Harriet had invited, the black evening dress she'd picked out seeming to draw attention, and of course, she knew how attractive she was. She drew people to her. And while she didn't like it much, she played her part.

One of the things she was most proud of was how well she'd managed to side-step making her male admirers think she was even slightly interested, while still being polite enough not to stamp herself with a reputation as frigid, as she knew that was the usual reaction when a woman showed disinterest in men. There _had_ to be something wrong with a woman like that. And so she'd skillfully maintained the balance, dancing with a few men here and there, but not encouraging anything beyond distanced politeness.

Everything depended on her being able to mold herself to this cover. For all intents and purposes, this eventually would no longer be a cover. It would be her life. Her real life. Even if it hadn't started out as real.

If she meant to be with Chuck, this would be the only way she could make it happen. Her yearning for that thrill of the hunt, pulling cons, stealing…she would tackle that after tonight. She would tackle that later, when she and Chuck were able to settle into this relationship without needing to separate again, waiting to see one another until the next time they could swing a reunion.

That was no life for either of them, even if it was clear they both were prepared to do whatever they had to do to still be able to see one another in some capacity. But why stay apart for so long when they didn't have to? Why put themselves through that when they could build a normal life and not worry about sneaking around or meeting in the shadows?

And so she'd made this decision. This was the safest thing for both of them. Chuck would never be able to last in her world. But she could con her way into his, and once the con became real, they could start a real life together.

The rest of it they could tackle later. After all, this had all been genuinely fun, and the danger in it hadn't been lost on her. It had almost felt like she was on a job, in a way.

And she would broach the subject of not entirely wanting to abandon said job after this worked out. It meant things might be strained with her and Ellie. She knew that. But she wasn't willing to sacrifice that part of herself. She could pull back on the amount of jobs and the types of jobs, but to quit entirely? She simply didn't want to.

She'd be much more careful. That was for sure. As it was, the team had become a lot more careful, Carina and Zondra especially donning masks when they stole, wearing disguises during recon work.

There was a lot more to lose these days.

But that wasn't going to be for a while. They had to establish this relationship first.

A relationship with a man she supposedly hadn't met yet. Which was a little…fun…wasn't it? They'd discussed it the last time they met and he'd admitted he found the prospect sexy, pretending they were strangers when they came upon one another at the party.

She smirked to herself and took a flute of champagne from the waiter who stopped his tray beside her. With a nod of thanks, she went on her way, passing the pianist who was mastering Chopin, and wandering out onto the balcony where the air was cool and crisp. It was incredibly nice against her heated skin.

Beverly Hills sprawled below her perch, trees and mansions casting shadows in the light from the sliver of a moon that was out tonight. She loved Los Angeles. She'd decided soon after moving into her suite at the Grand Industrial. It was quieter than New York, maybe because it was so big. It tumbled over the California landscape, made up of such an incredible variety of boroughs and neighborhoods, small towns that took up just one or two exits on the freeway, and a deep, complicated history.

She could easily get lost here, slip into anonymity out in the streets. There were so many people, so many _types_ of people, too. She loved it.

And as she took another sip of her champagne, she heard the door open behind her, the sound of someone shuffling out onto the balcony. And she thought maybe it was him until she heard the distinctive click of heels against stone.

"Thought that was you, Sarah."

She turned from where she'd been leaning against the railing and watched as Eleanor Woodcomb slowly strolled out to join her. As if of one mind, they moved to the side where people wouldn't be able to see them just by looking out of the French doors. Technically, this woman's brother was Sarah Walker's important meeting for the night.

But the fact that Ellie had actively approached her was hopefully a good sign. Right?

"Before you ask…Yes, Chuck is here. He's inside talking to some guy named Getty…seems like a bizarre man, but…" Ellie shrugged.

"Oh. I-I figured he must be in there somewhere, especially since you're here." She smiled.

"This is it, huh? The start of the thing." She let out a long breath and shook her head. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Sarah turned and watched Ellie closely. "What…do you mean?" she asked haltingly.

"Chuck is a good man. Which you know." Sarah nodded emphatically. "And this isn't a terrible life. Which you also know, Sarah Walker, niece of now deceased Philip Walker the Oil Man."

She snorted at the way Ellie said that, her eyebrows raised, pretty lips pursed. "It isn't what I'm used to. But I'm doing the work to get myself to a place where I can start to enjoy it the way you all do."

"I noticed." She paused for a long time and Sarah felt a little nervous. "You've put a lot of work into this whole plan. In fact, you've had to work a lot harder than Chuck, and you're doing it willingly. You've put your whole self into it, I think. I guess I just…" She huffed. "I didn't believe you loved him enough, maybe. For a while. It's hard for me to…It's just who you are, you know? A thief. Criminal. It's still…sitting in my gut. But knowing what I know about what you're willing to do for him, putting yourself in such a dangerous spot so that the two of you can start a life together? I'm just in awe of how much you must genuinely love my brother. You are restarting your life for him. Leaving your comfort zone and settling in the potential crosshairs. I don't think I'd ever do that for a man."

Sarah chuckled and turned to smirk down into the shadows below the second floor balcony. "It isn't just for him, though. I don't think it is. I've been thinking a lot about it. I hope you don't mind my saying so but I love what I do. I love the adventure in it, the danger, the adrenaline. And I like…the challenge." Ellie nodded mutely, and Sarah was grateful that she didn't interrupt, just listening in a way that reminded her of Chuck. "But living every day like that…" She let out a slow breath. "…I think over the years it has become too overwhelming, too dangerous, just…too much. I've made enough now that I can live comfortably, most likely for the rest of my life, and I don't necessarily want to just leap from con to con, bank job to bank job, jewelry store to jewelry store. A career in crime doesn't feel like it…suits me anymore."

"You gonna make it a hobby instead?" Ellie joked, snorting.

Sarah didn't respond, just staring at her. Ellie dropped the smirk and blinked.

"Wait…Are you?"

"Maybe. I need to talk with Chuck and decide. I don't think I can give it up completely. It's too much a part of me." She blushed a bit. "I know how that must sound to you. And you probably think I'm horrible."

"I am still trying to figure it all out," Ellie said, shaking her head. "Because I can't seem to understand how someone can feel all right about…stealing. But…But I am also confused because I've seen your heart and I think…well, I think it's a very, very good one."

Sarah gaped at Chuck's sister.

"Surprised?" Ellie smirked. "You probably think I must hate you, with the way I've been rather cold, huh?"

"Er…maybe. Yes." She rushed on before Ellie could respond. "But I can't say I altogether blame you for it. I tried so hard to dissuade him from being with me, as much as I've loved him since…the very beginning. As much as I seem to love him more any time I'm around him."

"I know." Ellie smirked. "He told me. I mean, you tied him to a chair so that he couldn't follow you."

"He still followed me."

"All the way to Portugal. I know. I had to go with him, the nut."

Sarah laughed lightly. "I can't believe he did that."

"I can't believe you're doing _this_."

She met Ellie's green eyes steadily and sighed. "It is pretty unbelievable, isn't it? But I know he's more than worth it. When you're…someone like me…someone who shouldn't have a chance like this with a man like him, you'd better grab onto that chance with everything you've got and hold on and…Well, do whatever you can to earn it. That's what this is, Ellie."

Ellie nodded and leaned forward with her elbows on the railing, looking down into the dark yard below. "This is dangerous for him, and by extension, all of us."

"I know," she admitted quietly. "Which is why I made the decision to make the change. It's why I'm the one orchestrating the con. Walking away from a career." Ellie made a face and she blushed a little. "I-I know it isn't a career you approve of."

"Well, whether I approve of your career or not, I've never seen my brother so…" She looked to be searching for the word, and Sarah thought she might help.

"Happy?" she tried.

"Well, that too. But more than that, he's not how he was…before."

"Before?" the younger woman asked, shifting closer, turning to face the brunette.

"Mhm. After our parents died, it was like…the light went out of him. Like someone blowing out a candle. Not that he was numb to everything. He was generally happy. We both have lived good lives these last ten years. But he was…"

"In a rut. That's what he told me."

"Mm. Yes. He was still fun to be around, but I could see a sort of hollowness in him. And it broke my heart." She eyed Sarah closely then, raising an eyebrow. "That's gone now. Even before we concocted this whole thing, your dead uncle and the inheritance, this sneaky first meeting we're staging. Before it was clear you two are making a genuine go at starting a life together. He was just…complete again. Full." Ellie shrugged. "I'm going to get past what happened at the Chellequin someday, Sarah. Maybe I'll even get it far enough behind me that we can laugh about it," she said drily, and Sarah winced. "And in the meantime, just promise me you'll make each other happy."

"I promise," Sarah said earnestly, forgetting herself and putting her hand on the other woman's arm. "I promise with everything in me. I've never been more determined about anything in my entire life, and trust me when I say I'm the most determined person you'll ever meet. When I want something, I get it. And I don't let go." She let out a slow breath. "I want this to work. I'm going to make sure it does."

"Good," Ellie said after a long pause. And then she worried her lip between her teeth, looking off to the side. "And I know—I know you aren't fully removing yourself from…that. From the…stealing. I wish you would. But I also know it's…problematic…to tell someone else how to live their life."

"You're telling me to stop committing crimes. I'm certain that I'm more problematic than you are." She smirked sardonically. "I don't…know. I don't know what I'm doing. I have decisions to make. But I can feel it in my blood…a need to do more, be more, than just…"

"An heiress and the woman on Charles Bartowski's arm?"

"Yes. We shall see." She shrugged. "But don't think that I'm in a place of assuming Chuck won't be enough for me. He will be. He is."

"No man is enough all by themselves, Sarah. That's fairytale nonsense," Ellie said with a snort. "And for that matter, no woman is, either. No person is enough in general. It's everything else, everything they bring to your life with them. And everything you yourself bring to your own life." She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Did that make any sense at all?"

Sarah smiled widely, realizing her hand was still on Ellie's arm, that Ellie hadn't done anything to shrug out of her touch, and she gave a quick squeeze. "It did. And you're right. I needed to hear that. Maybe everyone does."

"Don't give me so much credit," Ellie giggled, shaking her head. "Just keep him safe. Keep him out of it, whatever you're doing…if you continue with…you know, that."

Sarah made sure Ellie looked her right in the eye before she replied. "He won't be involved in any of it. Ever. I would never let him." Ellie nodded, relief in her face. "And let's be honest, he isn't cut out for it. He's too…"

"He's a damn Boy Scout," Ellie finished, and Sarah laughed. "It's how I like him."

Sarah rested her chin in her hands and leaned forward with her elbows on the railing. "Yeah. Me, too."

"I believe that."

The blonde turned to the brunette and just watched her, the way the shadows played on her face, the strip of light streaming out from the French doors a few feet behind her. "Would you mind if I hugged you? You can say no. I'll understand. Maybe it's something that needs more time—"

The other woman wrapped her arms around her halfway through her sentence, squeezing her tightly. "You love him, you adore him, keep him happy and safe, but keep challenging him…And I'll work on this part of it. Getting past…what you've come from. I promise I'll work on it if you do those things for me. For _him_."

Sarah held in the tears and squeezed Chuck's sister back. "I promise, Ellie. I promise."

"Good."

When they pulled away, Ellie delicately pushed an elegant strand of hair that escaped her otherwise perfect updo back from her temple and tucked it behind her ear. "You'd better go in first. You have an eligible bachelor to meet by chance."

Sarah snorted and nodded.

"That I do. How do I look?"

"Oh, please. Stop it," came the dry response.

That made her giggle.

And then she realized something for the first time… This was it. She was about to walk in and meet Charles Bartowski for what was supposed to be the first time, and that would be the beginning of a new stage in her life. It would be the start of a new life altogether. She'd been so busy planning everything, building up this persona, this existence, settling into it, meeting with Chuck in secret, obsessing over the minutest of details, that she hadn't had even a moment to think about just how big this was.

This was what she'd been afraid of six months ago when she'd run away to Lisbon, leaving Chuck behind. The settling down part of it, the walking away from everything she knew. She was afraid of changing.

And here she was, about to walk right through that door Chuck left open for her. He hadn't pushed her or manipulated her or persuaded her. She'd made this choice on her own. After six months of falling in love with him even deeper, allowing herself the time to really get to know him, allowing him to get to know her, unloading her past and present on him, and watching in awe as he stayed by her side instead of running in fear… God, she wanted this. She was making this choice wholeheartedly.

This was going to be her life now, and she was incredibly glad, even if she was a little nervous. In spite of living a life of danger and adventure, constantly flirting with imprisonment and death even, this was the biggest leap she'd ever taken.

And she knew Chuck Bartowski was going to be there to catch her if she landed and lost her footing.

As she went back inside, letting a waiter take her empty champagne flute from her fingers, she subtly snuck a glance over her shoulder, scanning the room on that side of her. She turned and scanned the other side. Where was he?

"Sarah!"

She turned on her heel and smiled politely as Lilith Westin swept up to her with every bit of grace the woman seemed to be able to muster. There was some excitement in her face however, and Sarah found herself raising her eyebrows at the editor-in-chief of Her Style magazine. "Lilith, hello…How are you?"

"How am I? Oh, ecstatic, Sarah. Ecstatic. You know who has just arrived, don't you?"

"By the look on your face, I wonder if it isn't the Queen of England," she said with a giggle.

"Haaa." She got a flat look for that. "Better."

"Better than the Queen of England? My, my…"

"We can talk when the Queen of England is unmarried and a man."

That made Sarah laugh. "Who, pray, are we talking about then?"

The strawberry blonde swept up to her side and grabbed her arm with both hands, turning her to face the dance floor. Ah. Yes. There he was. And despite the last six months of utter bliss mixed with genuine growth and the learning they'd done together, side by side (for the most part), she felt that ridiculous flutter in her chest.

Perhaps some things could be a bit like a fairytale, and she just wouldn't say that out loud to Ellie Woodcomb.

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," she lied, turning her face towards the other woman, then scanning her eyes over the crowd instead of fastening them on the young man having an animated conversation with the wife of Mr. Enders, a man she knew Chuck was in business with currently. He was gracefully moving the older woman around the dance floor. And charming her endlessly.

Of course he was. She'd never met anyone more effortlessly and naturally charming.

"The ice sculpture."

"What?"

"Oh God. Sarah. I'm being facetious. That man dancing with dear Mrs. Enders. You're telling me you don't know _him_?"

Sarah shrugged and turned to look at Lilith in confusion. "Should I know him? You forget," she added as the other woman's jaw practically unhinged in shock, "up until a handful of months ago, I was hiding away from all of this, trying to come to terms with the shock of finding out I _had_ an uncle, let alone that he'd left me a fortune."

Lilith winced. "Yes, of course, darling. You're right. Well, no time like the present to learn, hm? If you're going to hobnob with this crowd." The much shorter woman shrugged and gestured towards Chuck. "That is Charles Bartowski, youngest heir of the Bartowski estate. It is an incredible fortune, one of the biggest in the United States. And with a business under his belt that is easily one of the most lucrative, as well. And with the added bonus of being entirely unmarried. Wholly unattached. Blissfully untethered."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sarah asked.

"Have you never read a single Jane Austen novel, my dear Miss Walker?" Lilith asked drily.

Sarah laughed. "I get your point. A rich man must be in want of a wife…blah blah."

"Mmmhm. Without the blah blah. It's true."

"Lilith, you're married."

"And happily so. But there are many women here who are not. It's been a while since he's made an appearance at one of these events, too. I wonder why."

Because he'd been too busy with his business, of course. And also she'd perhaps kept him locked up behind closed doors of suites in hotels all around the world, as well as the times he'd snuck into the Grand Industrial to spend the night with her. He still blushed whenever she brought up the way he'd hidden under her bed without even a single shred of clothing on when she let the waiter in with breakfast one morning. She'd laughed for hours at him once the waiter left and he'd glared back the whole time.

Trying to keep the smirk off of her face, she snorted at her new friend. "At the end of the day, he's still just a man."

"Says the most beautiful woman in the room. Pfft. You should hear yourself, Sarah Walker."

Sarah just laughed. "I mean, he _is_ handsome. I'll give him that."

"You think so?" There was a look in the other woman's face as she looked up at her through her eyelashes.

"Yes." Sarah shrugged. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Waaaait right there. Don't you even dare."

"Dare what?"

"Speaking of Jane Austen, don't you try to Emma me with this rich fellow. I have plenty of my own money, thank you. I certainly don't need more. And I absolutely don't need the headache of a relationship when I'm still floundering a bit with this…new life of mine."

"Or it might make your transition easier."

Sarah gave her a flat look. "Have you ever met a man, Lilith?"

Lilith laughed.

"Fine, fine, darling. I won't do any matchmaking."

"You promise?" Sarah asked dubiously.

"Yes! But at least meet the man. Just an innocent meeting!" she rushed, holding her hands up innocently. "Perhaps he has advice he can impart, having been born into this life that's been foisted on you."

And because Lilith Westin had just played right into her hands, making this whole thing that much easier, Sarah relented with a sigh and a nod, letting her friend drag her across the room to where Chuck was handing Mrs. Enders off to her grateful husband, before stepping away from the dance floor and weaving through the partygoers.

"Charles! Oh, Charles…?"

He turned around mid step and his eyes immediately latched onto Sarah's, even though Lilith had been the one calling his name. Oh, that fluttering needed to stop. It wasn't anything that would knock her off her game. Not in the slightest. But she felt so silly. So in love and silly.

Chuck was quick to look away, facing Lilith mostly and smiling in that intensely handsome way of his that wrinkled his nose and the corners of his eyes. "Why, if it isn't Miss Westin…"

"In the flesh, Bartowski."

They shook hands emphatically. "How are you?"

"Much better since you last saw me. The spring issue finally went out on Thursday and now I can breathe again. For about twenty-four hours," she finished in a dry voice.

"Ah, yes. My sister enjoyed the story about the fisherwoman in Alaska. Fascinating stuff."

"You read it?"

"Er…no."

"Mmmmhm," Lilith hummed with a bit of a side-eye as Chuck blushed adorably. But then he raised his gaze to Sarah's again, a bit tentatively, and she was thrown off a little by the way he was already seeming intrigued, swallowing thickly as he took her in, shifting his weight. Was he playing it this way, then? Or was this just Chuck being Chuck? Losing his footing? She didn't know. It was sweet either way. "Ah! Yes! Charles, this is my new friend Sarah. Sarah Walker. Sarah, this is Charles Bartowski."

"Yes, I've heard about you," she said, ignoring the look from Lilith that clearly said _you liar_. The shorter woman didn't seem altogether unhappy about it, though. She thought she'd suffer through a bit of ribbing later on.

"Have you?" he asked as he folded his hand around hers, his fingers so warm she could practically feel them through her silk gloves.

"Yes," she said. And then she winced and bit her lip, twisting her mouth to the side. "Well, I'll be fully honest. No. I haven't."

"Sarah is new here, Charles. Have you heard of old Philip Walker? He was in oil."

"Er…no, I'm afraid not. But-But, uh, I am not familiar with the oil industry or its players. I apologize, Miss Walker. Please don't think me a fool."

"Oh, I don't at all. He was my uncle and _I_ wasn't familiar with him until not even a year ago." She shrugged. When he gave her a look of question, Lilith squeezed Sarah's arm and then quickly excused herself, claiming some important business she had to attend to. It wasn't smooth or subtle in the least bit and if Sarah wasn't looking for a reason to get to know this rich boy better, she'd roll her eyes at the retreating woman.

Sarah cleared her throat delicately. "I am surprised you haven't been told about this," she said. "Word seems to travel fast here. I received a summons one day and when I showed up, I found out my oil magnate uncle who I never knew existed died and bequeathed me everything he owned, which was…well, quite a lot."

Chuck lifted his eyebrows and leaned in close. "Way to sell the story, Miss Walker, but you think we might be able to dance so that I can talk to you properly?"

"God, please. Can we?"

He bit his cheek, she knew to keep from laughing at her eagerness, and then he stuck his arm out towards her so that she could wrap her hands around his bicep, allowing him to lead her back out to the dance floor.

Chuck held her at an appropriate distance and looked down into her face. Was it too much to think she was falling in love with him all over again in that moment? She allowed herself to ponder how she'd feel if this were real, if this Sarah Walker she was presenting in public were really meeting this man for the first time. Would he sweep her off her feet? Or would it be slow? Gradual? She would fall eventually, she knew.

"And so how do we proceed now?" he asked in a quiet voice. "You're the brains of this outfit."

"Don't let me too far out of your sight for the next few hours. Introduce me to your sister, perhaps? And then later tonight, you can sneak into my bedroom and we can finish what we started last weekend…"

"That is _brazen_ for our first meeting. Just who do you think you are speaking to, Miss Walker?"

"The same man who must've broken some world record that last morning with how fast he took my tights off."

An aching look flashed over his face and then he huffed. "You're going to bust our cover if you keep doing this."

"Sorry. You're too easy to tease."

"Tease? That's teasing? Pointing out my two left feet is teasing. What you're doing is downright torture."

She giggled and moved a bit closer, just enough that only they would notice. "Five days, Chuck. I've missed you so."

"God help me, I missed you, too. And I'll be there tonight, but…well, we have to be careful. Sarah Walker needs her reputation as this circle's new darling to remain intact."

She rolled her eyes a bit. "Yes, indeed. I can't allow myself to be sullied by the dangerously handsome rich boy who knows his way around wires…"

Chuck smirked deeply. But then he sobered up a bit and met her eyes steadily. "Sarah, I was thinking today. When I was getting dressed for this. This is it, isn't it? The real beginning. Or at least, the beginning to…all of these people everyone else. And I suppose us, too. In a way. There is no turning back now that we're here, together, where everyone can see us."

"No more shadows," she breathed. "They've seen us. And…" She snuck a subtle glance over his shoulder and saw what she figured she would see. A few of the other partygoers were eyeing them with secret smiles. "Well, they are definitely looking."

"And you're sure this is what you want?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

He smiled quietly. "I wish I could kiss you. But that'd be rather forward since we just met five minutes ago, hm?"

She grinned. "Indeed it would be. You have to take me to dinner in a public place first. Perhaps a symphony. The opera. Isn't that how all of this works?"

"Yes. It is."

"And when can I meet your family?"

He made a soft amused sound and glanced around the room, before lowering his brow eyes back to her blue ones, his face softening. "We have to move slow. Even if we…are less slow behind closed doors."

"Oh, that second part is non-negotiable."

"Good. We're absolutely agreed on that, then."

She giggled.

"Sarah…"

"Hm?"

"I-I know you've built this…person…that you have to be here. Someone who fits in, who doesn't stand out or attract too much unwanted attention. So that nobody wants to investigate your story, your background." She nodded as he nibbled on his lip a bit.

"What is it, Chuck?" she asked under her breath. "Talk to me."

"You _are_ Sarah Walker. Let her become you. Please, please…don't become _her_. I love you. Make Sarah Walker the real you. Be yourself. I know this…these beginnings…maybe that part of this is a lie. But what if everything else were the truth? We could _really_ be Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker falling in love. Not some hoity-toity fake Sarah Walker you think you should be, but just…just you. Because the people who know me well enough know I've tried to be with women like that. It just doesn't work for me. You've got your cover story, you've established yourself here in this life, in this place… Be yourself. Be the woman I'm so steadfastly in love with. And this will be so much easier for us both. I just know it."

She found herself smiling up at him. "Do you think I can? Really?"

"I know you can. Ah…but the song has ended. And I feel like maybe champagne might be in order…"

"And some night air, perhaps?" she asked.

"Oh, so much night air."

Sarah laughed and put a flirtatious hand on his arm, letting him lead her towards the beverage table. This was just the beginning, she knew. And they had a lot of work they would have to do from here on out, but she wouldn't have to lie or con her way through this. It would be real and true and sincere. She was going to be a woman falling in love with a man, at a genuine and natural pace.

And she thought again that she didn't deserve this.

She really and truly didn't.

But she was going to devote her life to trying to deserve it. Through every hurdle, every bump in the road along this journey…they would always be together, and she knew beyond all doubt that he'd be her partner in everything, including putting in some hard work and patience of his own. He would support her the way she intended to support him.

This was going to be beautiful.

And as they found a quiet, secluded spot on the grounds of the estate, wrapping themselves up in one another's arms, their lips coming together in familiarity and passion, Sarah swore on everything that mattered to her that she wouldn't take even a single thing for granted.

* * *

 **A/N:** There was no way I'd end this story without an Ellie and Sarah reunion and heart to heart. NO WAY. It's me. Y'all know my bread and butter is Ellie and Sarah friendship in every universe that exists. So as this stands, this is the end. However, it's...perhaps possible...that at some point in the future, I might...want to do a thing...in this universe. I'm not saying I'm definitely going to, but don't be surprised if it happens. That's all.

Thanks so much for taking this journey with me, everyone. Honestly, you're all just top drawer.

-SC


End file.
